Breaking the Code
by jlm110108
Summary: Alternate Universe crossover between Numb3rs and Foyle's War. This story takes place during WWII. Don Eppes and Colby Granger are in the US Army, assigned to the OSS. See the author's note in Chapter 1 for further warnings.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: This new fic is AU ("alternate universe"). It does not take place in 2009, but in 1943. Don Eppes and Colby Granger are NOT in the FBI. They're in the US Army, assigned to the OSS (Office of Strategic Services, the predecessor of the CIA). Charlie Eppes and Larry Fleinhardt are professors at Cal Sci at the beginning of the story. This is a crossover with a British mystery series called "Foyle's War," which was also shown on the PBS Mystery! series in the US. I want to thank my awesome beta, Digeediva for her patience and her incredible knowledge of all things military and grammatical. I've rated the story T for teen, with the caveat that there will be some violence and ethnic hate crimes later on in the story. I will not be overly graphic, but the epithets used by ignorant hateful people may be offensive to you. At least I hope you find them offensive.

Chapter 1: **Pasadena, California, March 1943**

Alan Eppes sat, drinking his coffee and reading the evening paper when the front door opened. He turned to see his older son, Don, stepping through the door, looking sharp in his army uniform. Removing his cap, Don grinned. "Hey, Dad. Is Chuck home?"

"He's in the garage," Alan stood, setting his paper aside. "I'm making a brisket. Can you stay for supper? Or are you on duty?"

Don laughed. "I'm always on duty, Dad, but even soldiers have to stop and eat." He set his cap on the table and headed toward the garage. "Especially when your brisket is involved."

Professor Charles Eppes stood at a blackboard, deeply engrossed in the stream of equations flowing from his chalk. Don watched his younger brother, wondering if it was right to ask Charlie to accept the mission. After all, Don was the one who enlisted in the army, rose to the rank of captain and then volunteered to work with the fledgling OSS – the Office of Strategic Services. It was Don who had spent the past six months sorting through intercepted messages that scared the living daylights out of him. It was Don whose life had been devoted to protecting his genius little brother from the harsh realities of the world.

"Hey, Don. Sorry. I didn't see you!" Charlie had turned around and stood, chalk still in his right hand, watching his brother. "What's up?"

"Oh, hey, Buddy. I didn't want to interrupt you." He nodded at the blackboard. "Is that for your class?"

"Yeah. I'm trying to make this understandable for my freshmen. Hey, can I practice on you?"

Don held up his hands and took a step back. "Oh, no you don't. I'm afraid the freshmen at Cal Sci are heads and shoulders above me, at least when we're talking math."

"My point exactly. If you can understand it, I know they'll get it."

"I'll have to defer to your judgment on that one, Dr. Eppes." Don grew serious. "Listen, Buddy, I'm here with a proposition for you. You don't have to do this if you don't want to. I won't be upset. We'll just find someone else to help with it. I don't want to interfere with your work at Cal Sci … ."

"What is it?" Charlie said softly. He picked up his tweed suit coat from a ratty old couch. "Sit down and let's talk this over."

Don sat stiffly, and glanced nervously at the door. "Dad's not going to like this … ."

"Don. I'm twenty-four years old. I know I'll always be your kid brother, but believe me, I'm fully capable of making my own decisions. Tell me what's up."

Don sighed. "You know I'm going back to England in three days."

"Already? It seems like you just got here."

"It does. You know I'm working with the Brits. I haven't been able to tell you about it, but now … . Well, what I'm about to tell you is top secret. You can't discuss it with anyone else, okay?"

"Okay. I've worked on top secret projects before. I understand."

Don nodded. "Good. The Brits have assembled a team of cryptanalysts at a secret location. They're working day and night to decode German transmissions."

"I didn't know about the secret location, but I've heard rumors that Alan Turing is assembling a team of top mathematicians from around the world."

"He is. But he's contacted the OSS looking for more help. I've been approached to ask you if you'd like to take a few months off from teaching to go over to England with me and work with Turing's group."

Charlie's eyes widened. "When do we leave?"

Don laughed. "Man, Buddy, you look like a kid on Christmas morning."

Charlie chuckled. "We're Jewish, Don."

"You didn't complain when Mom put up a Christmas tree when we were kids. So you're in? You don't want to hear the details?"

"Of course I want to hear the details. First, did you tell Dad?"

"You think I'd be in here if I did? I'd be on my butt out on the sidewalk."

Charlie laughed. "Yeah. You're right. But I'll handle Dad. So give me the details."

"The Brits have been working on decoding Nazi communications since the late thirties. They set up a center they called Station X on the grounds of this vacant mansion to centralize their code breaking efforts. They've got mathematicians, linguistics experts, chess players, and even crossword puzzle experts working there."

"Exactly what are they doing?"

"You know I can't tell you. Not until you've committed to joining the project. Suffice it to say that it's a huge effort, and they're inventing new methods of cryptanalysis. I know it's not your field, but … ."

"Mathematicians are trained in logic and finding patterns, so it's a good fit. And I'd give my right arm for a chance to work with Alan Turing. I met him once when I was at Princeton. Did I ever tell you that?"

"Yeah, you told me. A few times. He was a brilliant mathematician but really absentminded. He backed his car into the lake and nearly drowned. Yeah, you definitely told me."

"Sorry. But he really is brilliant. I have his paper on computable numbers. You know, he's exploring the possibility of building a machine that can do complex calculations. I can't believe I've got a chance to work with him." Charlie gnawed on his lower lip. "I'd have to arrange for someone to cover my classes. The dean is not going to be happy … ."

"I don't want you to get into trouble. I wouldn't even ask, but what they're doing at Station X is important. The information they're finding is helping the war effort against the, and there are rumors that the Allies are ready to make a decisive move against the Nazis soon. The work at Station X could be instrumental in our success."

"I didn't say I wouldn't be able to work out the problems. I've got tenure, so it's going to be hard for them to fire me. I'm assuming this will be under the auspices of a federal agency, so I can just appeal to the dean's sense of patriotism."

Don laughed. "I'll trust you to work out the details. Can you be ready to leave in three days?"

Charlie leaned back and pondered. Finally, he said, "Have you thought about bringing anyone else?"

"You having second thoughts?"

"I didn't say that. I was just thinking. You remember Larry Fleinhardt?"

"The physics professor, right? Always going on about some incomprehensible thing or another?"

"That's him! He's also a brilliant thinker. Very logical but with a creative flair. He was my mentor at Princeton. And, like many scientists, he reads German. I think he'd be a great addition to our team."

"Our team," Don said, grinning broadly. "I like the sound of that. I'll see if the higher ups will go for it. But you'll definitely go? With or without Larry?"

"Definitely! Okay, let's go tell Dad," Charlie said, standing. "Come on!"

"Hold it, Buddy. Can't we wait until after supper?"

Alan sat, staring at the newspaper clenched in his hands. "Dad?" Don sat across from him. "What's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost."

Alan raised his tear-blurred eyes. "Have you seen this?" He shook the paper at Don.

"I haven't had a chance to read the paper today. What's wrong?"

Charlie took the paper from his father's trembling hands and looked for the article that had had such an effect on their father. "'Jews Rally to Stop Hitler'? Is that what you're talking about?"

"Read it," Alan croaked.

"'Rabbi Stephen Wise led over fifteen thousand people, mostly Jews, in a Stop Hitler rally at Madison Square Garden yesterday. According to Wise, Hitler's regime has murdered at least a million Jews throughout Europe, in what has been termed the Final Solution.'" Charlie stopped and looked up. "That's it? That's all they have to say in the article? A million Jews are murdered and it gets two sentences on page eight?"

"We still have relatives over there, don't we?" Don asked softly.

"Yes. My mom's cousin, Anna was able to escape before the war, but she still has relatives there."

"This makes what Charlie and I have to tell you a little easier," Don said.

Alan looked from Don to Charlie. "You're not enlisting, are you?"

"No. Of course not." Charlie glanced nervously at Don, and then said, "Dad, I've decided to go to England with Don." He held up his hand as Alan opened his mouth to object. "This is a great opportunity for me. I'll be working with some of the greatest mathematicians in the world. There's absolutely no danger … ."

"Unless the Nazis invade England, which could happen any day," Alan muttered.

"I've done a quick calculation and the probability of that happening is really low."

"Really low? Forgive me if I am not thrilled by any probability that my sons will be sent home to me in a box." He held up the newspaper. "Did you not listen to what you were just reading, Charlie? Europe is becoming a very dangerous place for Jews. For everyone."

Three days later, Larry Fleinhardt arrived at Alan and Charlie's house, lugging two large suitcases. The physicist refused Charlie's offer of help. "No, Charles. Your brother said we must limit ourselves to that baggage we can carry. If I cannot carry these two bags into your house, how am I supposed to carry them across England?"

Charlie laughed and held the door open for his friend. "I hope you brought clothes and not just books."

Larry dropped his suitcases just inside the door. "Of course I brought clothing. However, I have decided that I can manage indefinitely with one suit, which I am wearing, four shirts, two pairs of slacks, and a week's worth of underwear and socks. That has left me with sufficient room for the absolute basic library without which intelligent existence is impossible."

"I'm sure they have books in England," Charlie said as he pulled the door shut. "Come on in and have a seat. Don isn't here yet."

Alan came from the kitchen, carrying two large bags. "Larry! How are you?"

"Fatigued. And I'm certain that my arms are at least a quarter of an inch longer than they were when I left my house. How are you?"

"Well, to be honest, I am not a happy man. I'm about to send my only two sons off into a war zone." He placed the bags on the floor next to the suitcases. "But at least I can send you off with enough food to keep you for a while. I understand food is pretty scarce in England. And who knows when you'll get a decent meal."

Charlie bent to study the contents of the bags. "Sandwiches? Canned corned beef? Soup? And chocolate? Interesting diet."

"I think you'll appreciate the sandwiches in a few hours. The other stuff will be useful once you arrive. Though Don refused to tell me exactly where you're going or how you're getting there."

"You know it's top secret. I'll wire you when we arrive." He put an arm around his father's shoulders. "We'll be fine. Don wouldn't involve us if there were any danger."

"Don is first and foremost a soldier. I'm beginning to wonder if the army has taken the place of his family."

"That's not true, Dad, and you know it. If the army told him to do something that would harm his family, you know he'd refuse."

Alan sighed. "You're right. I'm just an old man worried about his family. Don't expect me to think rationally at a time like this. I'm sure you'll be fine."

The front door opened and Don entered, accompanied by a muscular young officer. "Hey, you're ready! I'm amazed. Dad, Charlie, Larry, this is Lt. Colby Granger. He's the other member of our team."

Alan shook hands with the young officer. "Nice to meet you, Lieutenant. What's your job on the team? Bodyguard?"

Colby exchanged glances with Don then said, "I'm sorry, Mr. Eppes. The nature of my assignment is secret. But I can guarantee you that if your sons are at any risk, I will do my best to protect them."

Alan smiled. "That's all I can ask. Thank you, Lieutenant." He glanced from Colby to Don. "Do you have time for a snack before you leave?"

Don consulted his watch. "I'm afraid not, Dad."

Alan nodded grimly. "I guess it's goodbye then. I packed some food for the four of you."

Don pulled his father into an embrace. "We'll be back before you know it, Dad," he murmured.

Alan hugged him, blinking back tears. "I know. I know."

When Don stepped back, Charlie hugged his father. "I'll write every day."

"Sure you will," Alan stepped back and gave Charlie a shaky grin. "Three years at Princeton, and you wrote me exactly once." He wiped his eyes and shook hands with Larry. "You'd better practice your chess while you're gone. I'll be ready for you when you get back." He turned to Colby. "It was nice to meet you, Lieutenant. Have Don bring you over for dinner when you get back."

Colby grinned. "You can count on that, Mr. Eppes. I could use some home cooking."

"From what I've heard of British food, I'd better stock up on groceries."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

**Hastings, East Sussex, May 1943**

"Sir," Detective Sergeant Paul Milner stood in the doorway.

Christopher Foyle, Detective Chief Superintendent of the Hastings Police, looked up from his desk. "Yes?"

"A body's turned up, sir. A young woman. It appears she was murdered."

Foyle stood, donned his suit coat and hat. "Have Sam … ."

"She's already brought the car out front."

Foyle smiled. "Very efficient." He followed his sergeant.

The two men stepped out into the brilliant morning sunshine. Foyle paused and took a deep appreciative breath. "I would dearly love to be fishing on a day like this."

Samantha Stewart stood next to the department's Wolseley, looking very crisp and efficient in her uniform, her strawberry blonde hair mostly hidden by her cap. The effect was broken by her broad grin. "We could make a side excursion, Sir."

"Instead we have to slog around in a bombed out pub," Milner said wryly as he held the front passenger side door for his boss before climbing into the back seat.

"A bombed out pub?" Foyle asked. "The Blue Dolphin? Why do they think it's murder then?"

"Her throat was cut," Milner said as Sam pulled away from the curb.

"Do they know who she is yet?"

"No, Sir," Milner said. "They're not disturbing the body until you have a chance to have a look. Perhaps after that they can check her for her identity card."

A group of workmen milled around the outside of the pub. When they caught sight of Foyle's car, one man left the group and approached. When Foyle had opened his door, the man said, "Oi, Mr. Foyle, when can we get back to work 'ere? We was just clearin' up what we could. I'm 'opin' we can salvage the pub."

Foyle smiled. "I know you want to get back to business, Willy, but we've got to take care of our business first. Let me have a look inside."

Willy handed Foyle a flashlight. "'Ere. You're going to be needing this. The power ain't turned on yet." He followed Foyle and Milner into the pub. "We didn't move the poor girl. She was on top of the rubble, you see. So I knew she wasn't here when we was bombed."

"Thank you, Willy. We can take it from here. We'll be as quick as possible so you can get back to work."

"We can't let the bloody Nazis stop us now, can we? I'll be outside with me boys."

"She's over by the fireplace, Sir," Milner said, leading the way to the body. "As a rough guess, I'd say she hasn't been dead more than a day."

The first thing that caught Foyle's eye in the dim light was the bright red dress the victim wore. He turned on the flashlight and shone it on the figure. "She was young," he murmured. He squatted beside the body and brushed her long brown hair away from her face. He grimaced at the sight of the slash across her throat. "From the quantity of blood, it looks as if she was killed here."

His eyes swept around the rubble. "It's going to be rather hard to find evidence in this mess, but give it your best shot. Have you called the coroner's office?"

"Yes. They're on the way."

"Good. Let's have a look around until they arrive, then we can get out of Willy's way." He glanced around the destruction and shook his head. "I don't see how he can get this place in any condition to open, but I do admire his tenacity. What's that? Next to her left arm?" He pointed the flashlight on something long, narrow, and metallic.

Milner bent and looked closely. "It appears to be a tripod, like photographers use. But I don't see a camera."

"Here's a camera bag," Foyle said, bending to pick up a leather satchel. "It's empty. That's strange."

A few minutes later, the door opened, and a pudgy little man in a three piece suit entered. "Christopher?" he called as his eyes adjusted to the dim light. "You in here?"

"I am, Bunty. Back here." Foyle stood and approached the doctor. "Good to see you, Bunty. How's Millie doing?"

"Just fine, thanks, Christopher. Any word from Andrew?"

"He can't tell me where he is, of course, but he says it's all going well with his training. He hopes to be flying missions over the channel soon."

Bunty shook his head. "It seems like just yesterday I was treating that leg he broke falling off the roof."

"Time does go by fast," Foyle said.

Bunty looked beyond Foyle to the victim. "Time has stopped for that poor girl, though, hasn't it? Paul tells me it's a murder."

Foyle led the way to the body. "Her throat's been slit, and there's no knife anywhere to be found."

Bunty nodded as he crouched next to the victim. "At first glance, I'd say she was killed in situ." He glanced up at Foyle. "I know you're going to ask me time of death. I'd say she's been dead for a day. I can tell you more when I finish the autopsy." Bunty stood with help from Milner. "I'll get my lads in here to take her away."

As Bunty went to retrieve his lads, Foyle knelt beside the body and rolled her over.

"What are you looking for, Sir?"

"The camera. Who would carry around a tripod and empty camera bag, but no camera?" He stood and stepped aside as Bunty returned with his men and a stretcher.

As they lifted the woman, her shoe dropped off. Milner bent and retrieved it. As he went to hand it to Bunty, he noticed something. "Sir? Would you shine the torch over here?"

"What have you got?"

"A piece of folded paper." Milner removed the paper, handed the shoe to Bunty and handed Foyle the paper.

Foyle shone the flashlight on the paper. "It's just a series of letters. They appear random. May I see her other shoe, Bunty?" He took the shoe. "An American passport." He opened the little booklet and glanced at the photograph. "It looks like her. Name is Sharon Levine."

"Jewish?" Milner asked softly.

Foyle smiled wryly. "It doesn't say. It does give her address in the US." He pulled out a slip of paper. "It looks like she's staying at the White Feather."

"The White Feather?" Milner was incredulous. "Certainly in all of Hastings, a young Jewish woman could have found a better place to stay."

"It's under new management after the incident with the previous owners," Foyle said. "I'm rather surprised they didn't change the name of the place after that whole nastiness with those anti-Semitic Nazi supporters who met there." Turning to Bunty, he said, "Thanks, Bunty. I'll look forward to seeing your report."

"You'll have it as soon as it's finished, Christopher."

Sam stood leaning against the Wolseley, chatting with one of Willy's sons. She snapped to attention when she caught sight of her boss. When he was close enough, she said, "So is it a murder, Sir?"

"Yes, it's murder, Sam. Don't sound so excited."

"Sorry, Sir," she said in a tone that indicated she was anything but sorry. "It's just been a rather boring fortnight. Nice to have something to do. Where to, Sir?"

Foyle grinned in spite of himself as he slid into the passenger's seat. "The White Feather. Sam, while you've been sitting around being bored, have you heard anything about a young American woman in town?"

"No. I don't think so. Was the victim American?"

"She was. And it appears she might have been a photographer."

"Perhaps the film in her camera could offer some clue."

"It would if we had the camera. It appears to be missing."

"Oh, dear," Sam said with a grin. "Robbery and murder. How exciting."

"It gets even better," Milner said from the back seat. "We may have espionage as well."

"Milner, don't encourage her."

"Espionage?" Sam said, wide eyed as she pulled into traffic. "You think she's a spy? Did you find a secret radio or hidden messages?"

Foyle chuckled. "We found what appears to be a coded message. After we finish at the White Feather, I'll see about getting someone here to look at the message."

The White Feather was a pleasant enough inn, despite its past. A young couple had purchased it from Stanley Ellis who had no interest in running the place after his father had killed his mother there. He sold it to the first people who made an offer and left for London the next day. He hadn't been seen or heard from in Hastings since then. The wife was working at the desk today, and she looked up with a smile as Foyle and Milner entered. "Mr. Foyle, how nice to see you. We're just serving lunch in the dining room, if you'd care to join us."

"I'd love to, Bessie, but we're here on business." He held out the open passport. "Are you familiar with this woman?"

"Miss Levine? Of course. She and Miss Buonaroti have been guests here since last Monday. Why?"

"Is Miss Buonaroti in?"

"I believe so. Let me ring her room and see."

A few moments later, a pretty young woman with curly black hair pulled unsuccessfully into a bun, came down the stairs. She pushed her glasses up on her nose and looked quizzically at Foyle. "I'm Anita Buonaroti. Can I help you?"

Foyle led the way to the sitting room. "Please have a seat. We have some unfortunate news."

Anita gasped as she lowered herself into an armchair. "It's Sharon, isn't it? What's she done? I warned her … ."

"She's dead, I'm afraid. Murdered."

"Murdered?" Anita whispered. "Oh my God. That can't be. She … she … Who would want to kill her?"

"I'm afraid we don't know that yet. What was it you warned her about, Miss Buonaroti?"

"What?"

"You said, 'I warned her … .'," Foyle said gently. "What was it you warned her about?"

Anita brushed tears from her eyes. Milner handed her his handkerchief, which she took with murmured thanks. When she had composed herself, she said, "I'd better give you a bit of an explanation first. I'm a reporter, and she's a news photographer. We came here to prepare an article to show the American people what is happening here in Britain. The Nazis have put your people through hell, and I thought our people needed to see what you've been going through, and what our boys are fighting for. Since you here in Sussex are so frighteningly close to Europe, she was convinced there were probably Nazi agents here. She wanted to get the evidence."

Foyle grew serious. "You were right to warn her."

"But she didn't listen. She took off yesterday afternoon. She grabbed her cameras and tripod. She told me not to wait up for her."

"Sergeant," Foyle turned to Milner, who held up the tripod and camera bag. "Were these hers?"

Anita nodded numbly. "Yes," she whispered. "She put that strip of red tape around the leg of her tripod so she'd recognize it easily. And the bag, yes. She always had it with her."

"The bag is empty."

"Her cameras?"

"We didn't find any cameras at all."

"She has … had two."

"Can you describe them?"

"Yes. She had an Argus 35mm camera. It cost her a week's pay, but she absolutely loved it. It's a kind of a boxy looking thing. The other one is a Graflex. It's one of those cameras where the lens pulls out like an accordion. I'm afraid I don't know the model numbers, but she might have that information in her luggage. She's … she was very organized."

"Would you mind if we looked through her belongings?"

"I … uh … I don't know if that would be a good idea. I mean, how do I know you are who you say you are? You just walk in here and tell me my friend is dead." Her voice raised hysterically. "How do I know you're not Nazi spies?"

"Here's my warrant card," Foyle said, producing the document.

"Spies produce fake documents all the time. I think I should go to the US Embassy. I'd feel … safer."

"I don't blame you in the least," Foyle said, standing. "Perhaps my driver could take you?"

"Oh, right. And he could bump me off and throw my body into the ocean."

"She would never do such a thing. But I can understand why you'd be reluctant. Is there nobody here in Hastings you trust?"

"I'm sorry. I must sound like some hysterical woman. Let me have a look at your … what did you call it? Warrant card?" As Foyle handed over his warrant card, she turned to Milner. "Let me see yours, too." After a few moments, she handed them back. "Okay. I guess I've got to trust someone." She stood. "You wanted to see Sharon's stuff?"

"Thank you," Foyle said as they followed her upstairs.

Anita opened the door to the room she and Sharon had shared. "Sorry it's a mess. We've been working. This is … was Sharon's bed. Her suitcases are underneath, and she had this side of the closet." She watched as Milner pulled a suitcase from under the bed. "She kept her photography stuff in that one."

Milner opened the suitcase. "Lenses, envelopes of pictures. No cameras."

"I told you she had her cameras with her. Both of them.

Foyle picked up one of the envelopes. "Do you mind if we look at these? They might offer a clue as to what happened to her."

"I don't see how they could, but go ahead."

Foyle opened the envelope and pulled out the stack of photos while Milner checked the contents of the other suitcase and then started on the closet.

"All very mundane, I'm afraid, Mr. Milner," Anita said. "We're not spies or anything."

Milner gave Anita an embarrassed smile. "I'm sorry we have to do this, Miss."

Foyle looked up from the photographs he was holding. "Miss Levine was an exceptional photographer."

"She was. She actually won prizes for her work. She had a great eye for detail and the curiosity of a reporter." Anita smiled fondly. "I'll miss her as a friend, of course, but I have no idea how I'm going to replace her as a photographer."

Foyle held up a black and white photo of tangled barbed wire along the beach. "This was taken here, wasn't it?"

"Yes, it was."

"How long have you been here?"

"Six days. We have a friend at the local newspaper who lets … let Sharon use his darkroom."

Foyle nodded. "Which explains how she was able to have these developed so quickly. We'll need the name of that friend. Did anyone else here know what you two were doing?"

"His name is Simon Baker. We weren't exactly keeping our activities secret. We didn't expect to have any trouble. I don't know if she mentioned her suspicions about spies to anybody else. Do you think that's why she was killed?"

"It's early days yet, Miss Buonaroti," Foyle said.

Anita smiled. "Kind of like reporting. You collect all the facts you can find and then try to make sense of them."

Foyle returned her smile. "It's a great deal like that." He stood and put his hat back on. "Thank you so much for your help, Miss Buonaroti. Would you please stay in town until our inquiries are complete?"

"Of course. When do you think I could have Sharon's … body … sent to her family in the states? Oh dear. Have you contacted them? Or would you like me to?"

"I'll have Dr. Creswell contact you when he's finished his work. He's going to have to do an autopsy, of course. He can make the arrangements to transport her remains. As far as the family is concerned, I believe I should be the one to notify them. You have their contact information?"

Once they had taken down the information and thanked Anita once again for her help, Foyle and Milner returned to the car where Sam stood, waiting impatiently.

"Sir?" she said as they climbed into the car. "Were you able to find someone who knew her?"

"Yes, indeed. We found her roommate."

"Another Yank?"

"Yes, another American. A reporter. It turns out Miss Levine and her roommate were gathering information to publish in America. They hoped to encourage the United States to help us with the war effort."

"How exciting! Where to now, Sir?"

"Back to the station. I'm afraid we're going to have to consult with the Chief Superintendent before we can proceed."

Sam rolled her eyes. "He'll throw a spanner into the works, I'm sure."

"That's enough of that," Foyle scolded. "With foreign nationals involved, it's important that we follow procedure."

"And procedure is Mr. Reid's specialty," Milner muttered.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Bletchley Park, Buckinghamshire, UK

Charlie Eppes was once again standing at a blackboard, but this time it was letters, not numbers that flowed from his chalk. Larry sat on an ancient wooden swivel chair, reading lists of letters to his friend. Both men turned as they heard a knock on the door.

A diminutive blonde stood, balancing a stack of papers. "Dr. Eppes? Dr. Fleinhardt? Sorry to interrupt. I'm Cary McMillan. I have more transmissions for you," she said as she crossed the room and dropped the papers on the desk.

"A fellow American!" Charlie exclaimed. "It's nice to hear something other than the King's English."

Cary blushed. "It is! There are a few of us Yanks over here, but we're hopelessly outnumbered." She grew serious again and nodded at the stack of papers she had added to the desk's disarray. "These are new transmissions that look like they're from the same guy you're working on. They all start with the same letters as your message," she nodded at the blackboard.

Larry shook his head. "Thank goodness for human error." He raised his eyebrows at the stack. "And thank goodness he's a prolific operator."

Cary hesitated. Her glasses slid down her nose, and she nervously pushed them back up. Charlie finally said, "Is there anything else?"

"Uh. No, not really. But do you mind if I watch for a while? I've heard your methods are groundbreaking. But if you'd rather not…" She took a step toward the door.

Charlie smiled. "By all means, if you can find someplace to sit that's not covered by papers, stay as long as you'd like. But I'll warn you, our process is not all that exciting."

Larry lifted a pile of folders from a rickety wooden chair and placed them on the desk. "To paraphrase Otto von Bismarck's quote about lawmaking, code breaking is like sausage making. It's better not to see it being done."

"Well," Cary said as she sat carefully on the chair, "I don't care to see sausage being made, but I love the process of code breaking."

Charlie laughed. "Welcome to the sausage factory then." He turned back to Larry. "All right. We left off at QSWEO."

Larry ran his finger along the blocks of letters until he found his place. "AXOMP." He turned to Cary. "I don't know how familiar you are with the process, but the letters are grouped in fives when they're transmitted, so we keep them the same way."

"Oh, I'm familiar with it all right, Dr. Fleinhardt.. I spend all day screening the messages when they first come in. I just needed a break when this batch was ready to bring over."

"PEMMX," Larry said to the waiting Charlie. Turning back to Cary, he said, "Please, call me Larry. Are you a mathematician?"

Cary laughed. "Not hardly. I design crossword puzzles."

Charlie was perplexed. "I had heard there were crossword people here. I'm afraid I don't really understand the connection."

"I think it has something to do with the combination of logic and an understanding of language," Cary said, shrugging.

"Charlie, we should have brought your Dad along! He is a crossword whiz." Returning to his list, Larry said, "XYFFL. That's it."

"Now we look for repeated patterns in the text," Charlie said to Cary. "This will help us estimate the length of the key."

Cary nodded. "And once you know that, you can isolate each group of letters that corresponds to each key letter." At Charlie and Larry's surprised expressions, she said, "I've been here for two years now, and I ask a lot of questions. But, Dr. Eppes, isn't there a lot of guesswork involved in figuring out the length of the key word?"

"Please, call me Charlie, and I prefer to call it experimentation. We select the most likely word length, and try to solve it. If that doesn't work, we go to the next likely word length."

"And so on, and so on," Larry added. "Sometimes I think the war will be over before we solve some of them."

"But you're making great progress!" Cary exclaimed.

"That we are," Charlie said. "But the Nazis are still sending messages faster than we can decode them."

Cary nodded. "That they are. I'll be quiet and let you work."

Charlie gave her a brilliant smile. "Larry and I are teachers at heart. We love to ramble on about what we're doing."

Cary returned Charlie's smile. Her smile didn't fade as he turned back to the blackboard, and she watched him and listened to him with great interest until they were interrupted by a knock on the door.

"Dr. Eppes? Dr. Fleinhardt?" A young woman in uniform appeared in the doorway. Charlie and Larry had grown used to the sight of women in uniform, and were even beginning to be able to tell the khaki ATS uniform from the slate blue slacks of the WAAFs and the navy blue of the Wrens. This particular young woman was dressed in khaki. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but Dr. Turing requests your presence in Hut 8."

Charlie pulled his watch from his vest pocket and popped it open. "Oh, no! We were supposed to meet half an hour ago. Larry, why didn't you remind me?" He put his watch away and grabbed a folder from his desk. "Turing is going to want to see this."

"Don't worry. Alan is just as absorbed in his work as you are. He probably just noticed the time himself. Is that…?" Larry's eyes widened as he looked at the folder.

"It is. I think we've got what we need to make the adjustments he needed." Charlie grabbed his rumpled tweed suit coat and jammed his fedora down over his unruly curls. "I can't wait to tell him."

Cary laughed and clapped her hands as she stood. "One step closer to breaking Enigma!"

"We can only hope," Charlie grinned at Cary.

Cary blushed. "I'd better get back to work. They're going to wonder where I've been." She gave the professors a smile. "Thanks for letting me sit in."

"Any time," Charlie said. "You're a great student."

As they walked across the lawn toward Hut 8, Charlie noticed a figure in olive drab jogging toward them. "Hey, Don!" he called. "What's up?"

Don Eppes reached them, only slightly out of breath. "Change of plans, Buddy. We've got to go to Hastings."

"Hastings? But I have a meeting with Turing, and I'm already late."

Don straightened his cap. "Can the chief Abercrombie wait a couple of minutes?"

"No," Charlie said. "Walk with us and tell me why the heck we need to go to Hastings. Wherever that is."

"Charles," Larry scolded. "Certainly you remember enough of your British history to know that Hastings was the location of the great battle in 1066."

"I know that, Larry. I just don't know where it is and why we're supposed to be there." Glancing at Don, he said, "I also don't know if my brother appreciates how important our work here is."

Don sighed. "First, Hastings is on the southeast coast of England. Second, I do understand how important your work here is. Finally, we've been summoned to Hastings because a dead American woman was found with what appears to be a coded message hidden in her shoe. The Hastings police reported this up their chain of command, and because she was an American, the Brits decided to dump it in our lap. The local cops are going to concentrate on the murder, and we're going to concentrate on the espionage."

"Well, the two are obviously inextricably entwined," Larry said.

"Larry, I am in the investigative branch of the OSS. I think I can handle it. Besides, I think we all could use a vacation at the shore."

"Thirty miles from occupied France?" Larry said doubtfully. "I'm not sure I'd consider that a vacation."

They arrived at Hut 8, an unassuming hastily erected wood frame building. Charlie nodded as he straightened his tie. "All right. Let me finish up with Turing first. You want to wait here, or you want me to try to find you?"

"I'll wait here. I don't want you to get distracted and forget about me."

Charlie punched Don playfully on the arm. "How could I forget you, big brother? I don't know how long we'll be with Turing, though. I just solved something that's baffled all of us for the better part of a week, and it's going to take some time to work through the applications."

"Just don't take too long. Our train leaves in three hours."

"Our train? Aren't we driving?"

"'fraid not. The bigwigs decided it didn't look good – the Brits rationing everything and us driving around like gasoline was water. Okay, Buddy, knock 'em dead in there, and I'll see you whenever you're done."

Don had gone through the better part of a second cigar when the door to Hut 8 opened and Charlie and Larry exited, talking animatedly. Don glanced at his watch. "Not bad. We still have time to pack and make our train. How'd your meeting go?"

"Great!" Charlie said with a laugh as they started walking toward their quarters. "Turing was amazed at my solution. I started working on this crib this morning, and it ended up being the longest crib we've gotten this month.

Don lifted his hand. "Please, don't try and explain it. You'd be wasting your breath. I'm just glad it went well."

"It did," Larry said. "And Turing knew we're going to Hastings. He was disappointed, of course, to lose someone of Charlie's skill, even temporarily."

"Well, he wasn't thrilled to lose your help with the Colossus machine either, Larry," Charlie said.

"I'm sure you're both indispensable. But now you need to concentrate on packing for our trip to Hastings."

"Did they tell you anything about the code they found on the victim?" Larry asked.

"Not really. It's just a bunch of letters. Okay, here we are. You need me to come in and make sure you don't get distracted?"

"Funny," Charlie said in a tone that conveyed that it was not funny at all. "Are you packed?"

"Of course. I packed before I came looking for you guys. I knew you'd give me grief."

"Us? Grief?" Charlie laughed. "Okay. How much can we bring?"

"Just what you want to carry. I'm not lugging your junk for you. You can leave the blackboards here. I'm guessing they have some you can use."

"How long will we be there?" Larry asked.

"Until it's done."

"That's not very helpful," Larry complained.

"Sorry. I'll meet you right here in half an hour. Got it? If you're not ready, I'm coming to get you, and you're just bringing what you've got packed."

"Yessir!" Charlie saluted. "You've been a pain ever since you made captain."

Lt. Colby Granger looked up from his work, and started to stand when Don entered the office. He grinned sheepishly as he settled back into his seat. "Old habits die hard."

Don chuckled. "I know. They spend years drilling it into our heads to salute a senior officer, and then we come here and all protocol goes to hell."

"It's almost like being a civilian again. Once we get back to regular duty it's going to be hard to get back to 'normal.'"

"Well, hopefully, the war will be over before then and we can just go back to real life and never have to salute again." Don sat down at his desk, grimacing at the stack of papers that awaited him. "They're decoding more messages every day. I guess it's a good sign, but it makes more work for us. Listen, I've got to take Charlie and Larry to Hastings for a few days. Can you handle things here while I'm gone?"

"Yes, Sir. You need me to come along?"

"Granger, how many times have I told you to call me Don?"

Colby blushed. "Sorry … Don."

"Good. Now don't forget it. I don't think I'll need you. It should be an open and shut case. An American woman was murdered, and she had a coded message on her. Because she was American, the ambassador got involved and he insisted on sending Charlie and Larry to decrypt the message and me to make sure the local cops don't mess up."

"All right. But call me if you need me."

Don chuckled. "You just want to spend a vacation at the shore."

"There is that," Colby grinned. "I'm getting a little tired of reading all these intercepts."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

En route

Like most passenger trains in England, the train from Bletchley Park to London was crowded. Don had hoped to get a private compartment so they could converse freely, but he was lucky just to get three seats together. He recognized a lot of their fellow passengers as employees at Bletchley, but still he knew they should keep quiet. After all, he'd seen the slogan often enough. 'Loose lips sink ships.' He herded his charges into their seats and lit a cigar.

At every stop between Bletchley and London, a few of the Bletchley Park employees got off the train. By the time they reached London, very few of the original passengers remained, replaced with travelers of all classes and ages. The train began to slow and the conductor announced that they were coming into Charing Cross Station. "That's our stop," Don said.

As Don, Charlie and Larry gathered their belongings, a tall, slender blonde woman walked past. Her face lit in recognition. "Larry! Charlie! I almost didn't recognize you so far from your chalk boards." She smiled at Don, her glance taking in his face and uniform. "I do believe I've seen you around work, but we've never been properly introduced." She turned to Charlie expectantly.

"Uh, Susan, this … uh …" Charlie stammered.

Don stood. "My brother seems to have lost his ability to speak. I'm Don Eppes."

Susan graced Don with a dazzling smile and offered her hand. "Susan Berry. I work with Charlie and Larry. It's wonderful to meet you, Don Eppes. Are you doing some sightseeing?"

"Not exactly. You don't commute all this way every day, do you?"

"Oh, no. I actually live a lot closer to work, but my mum still lives in London. I've tried to get her to leave, but she's a stubborn one. So I visit her whenever I have free time.**" ** The train shuddered to a stop, and Susan gave Don another dazzling smile. "Now that we've been properly introduced, I hope to see more of you once we get back."

The three men watched her leave. When she was out of sight, Don elbowed Charlie. "You like her, don't you?"

Charlie couldn't meet his big brother's eyes. "What if I do? She's pretty and she's smart."

"And she's way out of your league, Buddy."

"Shut up," Charlie growled.

"Ah," Larry said, "perhaps we should disembark before the train starts up again."

"Good idea," Charlie grabbed his carpet bag and pushed past Don.

Charing Cross Station was even more crowded than the station at Bletchley had been. "I hope the train to Hastings isn't full," Don muttered. A group of young men shoved past them, pushing Don into a pillar. "Hey! Watch where you're going!" he yelled at the men.

One of the men turned to face him. "Go back where you belong, bloody Yank! We was doin' just fine against the Jerries without the likes of you."

"Sure you were," Don met the man's gaze. When the man flashed him an obscene gesture and turned to join his mates, Don grinned at Charlie. "Let's go. If I have to stay here much longer, I'm going to start shooting."

Larry chuckled nervously. "I do hope you're joking, Don."

Don stilled Larry with a glare, then nodded toward a waiting train. "There's our platform. Let's go."

Charlie and Larry struggled to keep up with Don through the shoving, milling crowd, and were failing miserably. Charlie muttered, "Excuse me … Pardon me … Excuse me," as he pushed his way through the crowd.

As he pushed past two middle aged ladies, he heard one of them say loudly to her companion, "Another of them blinkin' Chosen People 'oo just can't wait 'is turn."

Charlie stopped, stunned and shifted his carpet bag so he could tip his hat. "I'm sorry, ma'am. I was just trying not to lose my brother in this crowd. Are you all right?"

The woman stared, her mouth hanging open. Finally she said, "I'm fine, thank you, young man."

As they continued their push through the fray, Larry nudged Charlie's arm. "I think you challenged her preconceived notions."

"I hope so," Charlie said sadly.

The train to Hastings wasn't nearly as crowded as the train to London had been, and Don was able to find a small, empty compartment. He held the door open for the two professors. "This should be a lot more comfortable," he said.

Charlie was silent as he put his bag on the seat and sank down to sit next to it. He stared out the window at the crowds.

"Charlie, buddy, what's wrong?" Don asked as he sat next to his brother. "You okay?"

Charlie turned from the window and looked at Don. "They don't like us very much, do they?"

"Hey, don't worry about those guys. They're idiots."

"It's not just them. They don't like Jews here very much."

"What happened?"

Charlie told Don about the woman he had jostled. "She said 'Chosen People' like it was a swear word."

"You know there are anti-Semites out there," Don said softly. "They've always been there, and they always will."

Charlie nodded. "I know. But I didn't expect it here. Maybe in Germany. Not in England. And I certainly didn't expect it now. Not with the Nazis slaughtering the Jews just across the channel."

"Two plus two doesn't always equal four when you're dealing with people," Don said softly as he squeezed Charlie's shoulder.

In Hastings, Sam Stewart stood on the platform awaiting the train from London. DCS Foyle had insisted she find the largest car in the police motor pool to accommodate their American guests and their luggage. She was told to expect an army captain called Don Eppes and two civilians. Apparently they had something to do with the secret message found on the murder victim.

The London train creaked and groaned to a stop in front of her, and the swarm of people increased as people jockeyed for position to board the train. She studied the people climbing down the steps, and finally saw an American officer. He lifted his eyes to scan the crowd before coming down the steps, and his eyes met hers. She waved and shouted, "Captain Eppes?"

He didn't appear to hear her above the crowd noise, but he nodded and turned to two men behind him. The three men looked in her direction and walked down the steps. Captain Eppes was a handsome man, not movie star handsome, but nice looking in a rugged sort of way. He looked tired and stressed from his trip, but she imagined he'd want to go to the police station before going to their quarters.

The civilian closest to him bore a passing resemblance to Eppes. He was a few inches shorter, a bit on the pudgy side, with dark curly hair peeked out untidily from under his fedora. The other civilian was a tad shorter, and had removed his hat to scratch his sandy hair.

When they finally reached Sam, she gave Captain Eppes a snappy salute, which he returned with a grin. "Welcome to Hastings. I'm Sam Stewart, DCS Foyle's driver."

"I assume Sam is short for Samantha?"

"Yes, it is. But everyone calls me Sam."

"All right, Sam. I'm Don Eppes. This," he turned first to the dark haired civilian, "is Dr. Charles Eppes, and this is Dr. Lawrence Fleinhardt."

"Dr. Eppes, Dr. Fleinhardt," Sam said, shaking hands with the two men. "Do you need a hand with your luggage?"

"We've got it," Don said quickly. "Just lead the way, Sam."

As they walked, Sam said, "We have rooms for you in a very nice inn.It's only a hop, skip and a jump from the police station. We've also set up a room in a nearby school house for you to do your work. The school's been requisitioned for the war effort, unfortunately. Where shall we go first, Captain?"

As she expected, he said, "To the police station. We'll walk from there after we've had a chance to meet with Mr. Foyle."

Sam opened the boot of the car and helped the men stow their baggage. She watched with amusement as Captain Eppes walked around to the driver's side. With his hand on the door handle, he realized his mistake and grinned at her. "Oops," he said. "I still haven't gotten used to British cars."

"That's quite all right, Sir," Sam tried to suppress her grin. "I imagine I'd have the same problem in the US."

"Please, call me Don."

"Oh, I don't know if I should. Mr. Foyle is quite the stickler for propriety."

Dr. Fleinhardt chuckled. "Once you've been around Americans for a while, you'll learn that we are not sticklers for anything."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

As they drove to the police station, Sam chatted about the sights they were seeing, about Hastings, and England in general. Don sat in the passenger's seat and found himself watching her instead of the sights. She was pretty in a clean cut way, with an infectious enthusiasm that made him smile. He mused that once the war was over, she'd be a great tour guide.

"I'll take us a bit out of the way to show you the White Feather. It's a lovely inn. I think you'll be very comfortable there." They drove past the inn, and the visitors made appreciative noises. "The police station is a good long walk from here." They continued through the city, past shops, theaters, and pubs. "Here's the police station. I'll just pull into the car park here, and we can walk to the station. When we're finished, I'll drive you to the White Feather so you won't have to carry your bags all that way."

Don chuckled. "I think we can manage, Miss Stewart, but thank you."

"Please, call me Sam. And it's really no trouble at all, Captain. Just leave your bags in the boot and come get me when you're ready to leave." She pulled into a parking spot and led the way into the police station. "Mr. Foyle's office is over here. He's expecting you." She knocked and opened the door. "Sir, the Americans are here." She stepped back, letting the men enter the office, giving Don a warm smile as he passed.

Christopher Foyle was a compact man, with a face creased from decades of worry and stress. "Thank you, Sam. Would you send Milner in, please?" He stood to greet his guests. "Welcome to Hastings."

Don stepped forward and shook the man's hand. "Detective Chief Superintendent Foyle, I'm Don Eppes. This is my brother, Dr. Charles Eppes, and this is Dr. Lawrence Fleinhardt."

"I hope you had a pleasant journey," Foyle shook the men's hands, smiling a smile that was more polite than welcoming

Don realized the man was not thrilled to have these interlopers invading his territory. "Mr. Foyle," he said quickly, "I want to assure you that we are not going to interfere with your investigation of the murder of Miss Levine. Our only purpose here is to decrypt the coded message that was found on her body."

Foyle sat and gestured for the three men to sit as well. "Captain Eppes, if that were the case, we could have sent the message to you. I'm afraid your government does not trust us to investigate a murder in our own town."

"Listen, Mr. Foyle, I don't know what the bigwigs in Washington have in mind, but I promise you that I will not interfere with your case. If you want my help, I am more than happy to oblige. But until you say the word, I will help these two professors with their work and stay out of your hair."

Foyle finally smiled. "I appreciate that, Captain Eppes." He placed a file folder on the desk in front of Don. "Here's our case file. The original of the coded message is in there. I've taken the liberty of having my clerk type copies for your use." He handed the copies to Charlie and Larry, who immediately pulled pens from their pockets and began studying the message. Turning back to Don, he said, "The Blue Dolphin Pub was bombed by the Germans last week. Yesterday, the owner and his men were attempting to clear the rubble, and they found the body of a Miss Sharon Levine."

There was a knock on the door, and a tall, slender, dark haired man entered. "Sir? Sam said you wanted to see me."

"Ah, Milner. Come in and meet our American guests." Foyle introduced Milner to the Americans. When they had finished exchanging greetings, and Milner had taken a seat, Foyle said, "Dr. Eppes and Dr. Fleinhardt will be deciphering the message we found in Miss Levine's shoe. Captain Eppes will be assisting them and has generously offered to assist in our enquiries if we need his help. I was just filling these gentlemen in on what we know of Miss Levine's death."

Turning back to Don, he continued, "Miss Levine's throat had been slit, and it was definitely some time after the bombing. She had a tripod and an empty camera bag with her, but no camera. We found her passport in one shoe and the coded message in the other. Her roommate, a Miss Anita Buonaroti, said that she and Miss Levine were preparing a report intended to convince the American public to support America's involvement in the war. She also said Miss Levine was convinced that Nazi spies were active in the area and was intent on proving it. Unfortunately, Miss Levine did not reveal her evidence to her roommate. They were staying at the White Feather. Miss Buonaroti is still staying there."

"The same place we'll be staying," Don said. "Would you object if we were to try to strike up a conversation with her?"

"I would think it would be perfectly natural for countrymen to converse," Foyle said. "That's part of the reason we arranged for you to stay in that particular inn. Miss Buonaroti seemed rather suspicious of us. I fear it was because of Miss Levine's concerns about spies."

Don nodded thoughtfully. "She might be more willing to open up to us. I'll pass everything we learn on to you." After a moment's pause, he asked, "Could Miss Levine have been right? Do you have a problem with Nazi spies in Sussex?"

Foyle considered before replying. Finally he said, "We are a relatively short boat ride from occupied France. We've tried to make the beach inaccessible as best we can, but occasionally unwanted visitors do get through. I only wish Miss Levine had told her roommate about the evidence she had."

"Sir," Milner said, leaning forward, "if a news photographer who isn't even from around here can find the evidence, I'm certain we can find it as well."

A smile quirked the corners of Foyle's mouth. "I'm certain we can. Captain Eppes, do you have any other questions?"

"Please, call me Don. And I think I'm set for now." He glanced at Charlie and Larry, who had begun to discuss the code in hushed tones, then turned back to Foyle. "I understand there's a room in a school house where these two can set up shop. They're not paying attention to anything we say anyway."

"They do seem to enjoy their work," Foyle said wryly. "Sergeant, why don't you show these men to the classroom you set up for them?"

"Yes, Sir," Milner stood and placed his hat back on his head.

Don stood and tapped Charlie on the shoulder. "Come on you two. Let's check out your new digs."

The new digs turned out to be not very new. Sam parked in front of the ancient stone building. Milner led the way up the steps and unlocked the front door. He held the door to admit Sam and the Americans, then grinned at the startled expressions on the Americans' faces. "Welcome to St. Mary's school. I'm afraid it's a little worse for wear. This school was requisitioned at the start of the war. A group of American Army engineers were here last year, but it hasn't been used recently." He led the way through the front doors and down the hall. "We cleared out this classroom for your use, but we can clear more if you need more room."

Charlie shivered as they walked through the damp, dark building. "Does the heat work?"

"There's a fireplace in each room, and I've been assured that they are all in working order. You are familiar with the functioning of a fireplace, aren't you?"

"Ah, not really," Charlie admitted. "I'm from southern California, where the temperature rarely gets below sixty degrees, and it's sunny most of the time. We have central heating."

"All right. Come on then, I'll show you." Milner crossed the room to the cold fireplace and eased himself with difficulty onto his knees. His trouser leg rose slightly, revealing that the lower part of his left leg was made of aluminum. He heard the sharp intake of breath behind him and reached to straighten his pant leg.

"Were you injured in battle?" Don asked softly.

Milner turned and looked at Don. "Yes. I was wounded at Trondheim, in Norway. I lost the lower part of my leg there."

"I've heard it was a nasty battle. You were lucky to make it out of there alive."

Milner nodded sadly. "How did you know I was in the military?"

"You carry yourself like a soldier. You're the right age for military service. And I could see it in your eyes before I even saw your prosthesis," Don said. "I haven't been to the front, but I've had friends who've come back. They have the same look in their eyes."

Milner nodded slowly. "So you understand." He turned back to Charlie, who had knelt beside him and showed him how to light the fireplace and keep the fire going. "You'll find even in spring and summer there are enough cool, damp days that you'll appreciate a nice fire. The wood is kept behind the building, but I expect you're going to want to keep a stack in here."

"I think you're right," Charlie said, getting to his feet. He held out a hand to help Milner up, then looked around the room. "Looks like we have plenty of blackboards. Is there chalk?"

Larry had been rummaging through the drawers of a rickety desk. "In here," he held up a box of chalk. "There's also paper, pens, and pencils."

"If you need any other supplies, please let me know, and I'll get you whatever I can," Milner said.

Larry pulled out the supplies he had found and put them on top of the desk. "I believe this will be sufficient. What do you think, Charles?"

Charlie picked up a piece of chalk wrote 'etaoin shrdlu' on the blackboard, as high up as he could reach. "This will be just fine, thank you, Sergeant."

Sam looked perplexed. "Who's Etaoin Shrdlu? What an odd name."

Charlie grinned. "It's not a who. It's a what. E-t-a-o-i-n-s-h-r-d-l-u are the most common letters in the English language, in their order of occurrence from most frequent down. He continued to write, 'c, m, w, f, g, y, p, b, v, k, j, x, q, z.' "These are the rest, in descending order." Below that, he wrote, 'enisr atulo.'

"Let me guess," Sam said, "Those are the most frequent in German, right?"

"Very good," Charlie said, as he continued to write the rest of the alphabet in order.

"So how do you decide whether the message is in English or German?" Milner asked.

"That's where trial and error comes in," Charlie explained. "I'm going to start with the assumption that the message is in English, since it was found on an American in England. If I get to the point of deciphering it, and it doesn't make sense, I'll have to go back to the beginning and try it in German."

"That seems like it would take rather a long time," Sam said.

"It does," Don chuckled. "Charlie, Larry, before you get too involved, why don't we go over to the inn and unpack?"

"Oh, you don't have to rush on my account." Sam looked embarrassed.

"Trust me," Don said. "If we don't get them out of here now, we'll be stuck here until tomorrow morning."


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

"There's a telephone near the front door in the school, so any time you need a ride, just give me a call at the police station. It seems I spend all my time there these days, and I enjoy a drive on a pleasant spring day, you know," Sam said, as they drove to the White Feather. "It doesn't seem all that far by car, but I can assure you, the walk between the school and the White Feather is not one you'd care to make carrying your luggage. Though I do suppose, Captain, that being in the military, you're accustomed to taking long hikes, aren't you?"

Don chuckled. "Not recently. And, since it looks as if we're going to be spending time together, please call me Don?"

"Oh, all right. Propriety be damned. You Yanks do tend to be more familiar a lot faster than we Brits. There was a young soldier who, the very first time he laid eyes on me, called me Sugar. I was dumbstruck. Sugar? My first thought was that his parents certainly did not teach him the basic rules of etiquette."

"We do tend to be a little more forward," Don said, grinning. "Do you find it annoying?"

"No, actually, I've grown accustomed to it."

"That's good," Don caught sight of a movie theater as they drove past. "Would it be too forward of me to ask you to come see a movie with me tonight?"

Sam was startled into silence. Finally, when she could speak again, she said, "Apparently I'm not all that accustomed to it after all. What movie did you have in mind?"

"That theater we just passed is showing one of my all-time favorites, 'Sullivan's Travels.' Have you seen it yet?"

"No, I haven't. It just started here yesterday. I do enjoy Joel McCrea's movies, though, and Veronica Lake is absolutely beautiful."

"So is that a yes?"

"No, Captain … uh … Don. I believe we'd better wait a bit. We've only just meet. You don't know me at all, and I certainly don't know you. I mean, you could have a wife at home and just be looking for a quick fling with a naïve little English girl."

In the back seat, Charlie leaned forward. "I can vouch for my brother, Sam. He does not have a wife at home. He doesn't even have a girlfriend. In fact, I don't think he's had a date in what's it been, Don? Four or five years?"

Don reached back and gave Charlie a playful punch. "Thanks a lot, Chuck. Very helpful."

Sam giggled. "Thank you, Charlie. I'll take that under advisement. Don, may I consider your offer and get back to you?"

"Of course," Don gave her his most dazzling smile. "You know where to find me if you change your mind."

"And, speaking of where to find you, our destination is up ahead on the left."

The Americans looked ahead at the beautiful white building with impressive columns, set back from the road and surrounded by a wrought iron fence. Charlie whistled. "Wow. I could get used to living in a place like that."

Larry nodded. "After our living arrangements at Station X, I had despaired of ever sleeping in a comfortable bed again."

Don grinned at Sam. "I think our boys like your boss's choice of hotels. I don't see many cars. Has it been requisitioned too?"

"No. With all the rationing, people don't go off on holiday that much any more. But I think you'll be more than comfortable in the White Feather. I thought it was a rather odd name for a hotel when DCS Foyle had me drive him here for an investigation a couple of years back."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, the white feather was a sign of cowardice in the last war. In an attempt to get more men to enlist in the military, women were encouraged to present a white feather to every man they saw who wasn't in uniform. It was supposed to shame them into enlisting."

Larry asked, "Ah, Miss Stewart, what were you investigating in this hotel? Are we in any trouble?"

"No trouble at all, unless you believe in ghosts. The previous owner of the hotel murdered his wife here," she said, as she pulled through the wrought iron gates and parked in the circle in front of the hotel. "But never fear. Mr. Foyle and Mr. Milner cracked the case, the murderer was hanged, and the son sold the hotel soon after. We've not been called here at all since the new people have been in charge."

"Other than stopping by to investigate the current case," Milner corrected, as he opened the car door.

"Well, that doesn't really count. The poor girl wasn't killed here, was she? Not like the despicable Mrs. Ellis."

"Mrs. Ellis?" Larry asked. "I presume she was the murdered owner? What was so despicable about her?"

As Milner held the door for the professors, he said, "Perhaps in the interest of time, I'd better explain. Mrs. Ellis was involved in a pro-Nazi organization called the Friday Club. She really hoped the Nazis were on the verge of invading England. Her husband was upset at this, and had some other issues with his wife, so he shot her during a meeting of the Friday Club."

The Americans gazed at the façade of the inn as Sam opened the boot of the car. "This Friday Club," Don said, "they don't meet here any more, do they?"

"Oh, no. They've made themselves scarce since the murder," Milner assured them. "Though it's possible that some of their sympathizers remain in the area."

"Could those sympathizers be the Nazi spies Miss Levine was worried about?"

Milner closed the car door and lifted a bag from the boot. "It's very likely. I was just beginning to investigate that possibility before you arrived. We do have the names of some sympathizers. Being this close to occupied France, we're very concerned about Nazi sympathizers. If they're British subjects, it's rather difficult to move them out of the area. Not like the German immigrants."

"I understand," Don said. "We've had to put some Japanese and Germans in internment camps ourselves. But our government is interning US citizens of Japanese ancestry too."

"That doesn't seem fair," Sam said as she closed the boot. "Putting your own citizens in camps."

"It isn't," Charlie said. "But we're learning that those who object to what the government is doing are likely to find themselves in trouble."

"Charlie," Don said in a warning tone, "that's just a rumor."

"It's more than a rumor. I've had friends who raised an objection to the internment camps and suddenly found themselves under investigation."

Larry stepped between the brothers. "Whether it's true or not, it has no bearing on our current situation."

Charlie gave Don one last glare, then turned to Larry. "You're right." He hurried to catch up with Milner and Sam, who had started up the stairs toward the front door.

Don patted Larry on the shoulder. "Thanks, Larry. That's been a bone of contention between me and my family for months now. Dad and Charlie just don't see the need for security."

"I don't believe it's the need for security that's bothering them. I believe it's the issue of imprisoning citizens without due process. But," Larry raised his hands to forestall Don's objection, "as I said, I don't believe we need to get into this now. I believe it's a matter of one's point of view. Because of your job, you see it as a matter of security. Your father, on the other hand, if he lived in England, would most likely have been given more than one white feather during the last war."

"True. You wouldn't believe the issues that came up during my background check," Don said with a chuckle. "I almost didn't make it into the OSS."

"Now that would have been a pity," Larry said, as they walked up the stairs. Charlie waited for them at the top.

"What would have been a pity?" Charlie asked.

"If Don hadn't gotten into the OSS," Larry said. "If he weren't in the OSS, it would have been a lot less likely that we would have had the opportunity to work with Alan Turing."

"Now, that is true," Charlie agreed. "Thanks," he nodded at Milner, who held the door open for them. His eyes widened as he gazed around the lobby. "This looks more like a museum than a hotel."

"It sure does," Don whispered, as he looked at the marble busts and bronze sculptures on antique tables against the wall. "Be careful not to break anything, Chuck."

Charlie rolled his eyes. "I'm not a kid, Donald."

Bessie Weeks came from the back room and took her place at the reception desk. "Good evening, and welcome to the White Feather. Sergeant Milner, I presume these are the guests Mr. Foyle told me to expect."

"They are. Mrs. Weeks, this is Captain Eppes, and Doctors Eppes and Fleinhardt."

"Wonderful! I've arranged our three best rooms for you gentlemen. I just need to see your identity papers and we'll be all set."

As Don handed her his passport, he asked, "Do we pay you now, or when we leave?"

"Oh, no. You don't worry about payment at all, Captain. DCS Foyle has made it clear that you are to be guests of the Hastings Police. I understand you're here about the terrible murder of poor Miss Levine."

"We are," Don said. "Our government has asked us to provide whatever assistance Mr. Foyle requires."

Bessie looked up from checking Larry and Charlie's passports. "And we at the White Feather will do everything we can to help. I've already advised Miss Buonaroti that she's welcome to remain here at no cost as long as she needs to stay in Hastings. Poor dear is very upset about all of this. Now, I just need you gentlemen to sign the registry," she turned the book and handed Don a pen. "I'm afraid we've only just cleared up from dinner, but the cook could probably find something for you if you're hungry."

"Actually," Charlie began.

"Don't go to any trouble on our account," Don interrupted. At Charlie's disappointed expression, he added, "We'll get something in town, thank you. The professors here are anxious to get to work. Aren't you, Professor?"

"I … yes, of course. We're very anxious to get to work, and we wouldn't want to put the cook out in any way." Charlie pulled out his pocket watch. "The pubs should be open."

"All right, then," Milner said. "We'll let you get to it. Sam and I really should get back to the station."

"Okay, we'll see you tomorrow, then," Don said, shaking hands with Milner. He winked at Sam, "Sam, you sure you don't want to see that movie tonight?"

"Positive. But ask me again tomorrow," Sam said as she turned toward the door. "Cheerio!"

"Cheerio," Don said, giving her a wave.

"I'll show you your rooms," Bessie said, coming around from behind the desk. "I'm going to have to ask you to carry your own bags. We're a bit shorthanded. The war and all that, you know."

She led them to three adjacent rooms at the top of the stairs. As she was filling them in on the daily routine at the White Feather, Don studied the rooms. They looked secure enough, but he made a mental note to remind Charlie and Larry not to leave any secret documents lying around in their rooms. He could tell that a part of Charlie's mind was already processing the coded message and in spite of his hunger, he was itching to get back to the school and get started on the deciphering. He thanked Mrs. Weeks when she had finished showing them the rooms and accepted his key from her. "You guys take a few minutes to unpack, then come on to my room and we'll go over what we need to do."

"What we need to do," Charlie replied as he slipped his key into his pocket, "is get back to the school and get working on that code. Larry and I already think it's more than a simple substitution cipher."

"And we can't wait to get down to work," Larry added. "Each new cipher is a challenge, an unanswered question, and we do not have patience with unanswered questions."

"Which is why you're so good at what you do. Now, go unpack, and meet me back here. We'll walk over to the school together and turn you loose on your unanswered question."


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Bessie looked up from her work as Don, Charlie and Larry came down the stairs. "If you're heading out, you might want to bring your umbrellas. It's supposed to rain this evening."

"Umbrellas?" Don stopped and glanced at the other two men. "We didn't think to bring umbrellas with us. Is there a shop nearby where we can pick some up?"

"Don't bother with that. See that stand over by the door? Just take what you need and bring it back with you when you return."

"Thank you," Charlie said as he selected an umbrella. "It doesn't rain much where we're from."

"Whereabouts in the States are you from?"

"Southern California, where it's sunny and warm and dry," Charlie said, glancing out the window.

"This must be quite a shock to the system, then," Bessie said. "Do you live near Hollywood? That's in southern California, isn't it? You must see movie stars, don't you?"

Don laughed. "We live near Hollywood, but unfortunately we don't live in the neighborhood where the movie stars live."

"Well that's too bad. At least you have the lovely weather and the palm trees. There are palm trees, aren't there?"

"Yes," Don said. "There are definitely palm trees." He selected an umbrella. "We'll see you later, Mrs. Weeks."

"See you later, and you must call me Bessie. Everyone does."

Once they had reached the roadway heading toward the school, Larry said, "She's a sweet lady, isn't she? Very hospitable."

"Probably just trying to make up for the reputation of the previous owners," Charlie said.

"Charles, you have gotten cynical in your old age." Larry paused, checking his pockets. "Did I remember … ? Oh, yes, here it is!" He pulled his slide rule from his breast pocket. "I can't calculate in my head like you can."

Charlie shrugged. "Well, someday, if Turing has his way, we won't need slide rules any more. We'll have electronic computing machines to do the work for us."

Larry glanced around, and determining that the elderly women walking toward them were no threat, whispered, "You wouldn't believe how close he is to making his wish come true. I honestly believe that before the war ends, he will have invented such a machine."

"Good evening," Don nodded at the two women.

The women assessed the three strange men, then returned the greeting and hastened along their way.

Once they were out of earshot, Don hissed, "You two really should be more careful about what you say."

Charlie glanced over his shoulder at the women. "You think they're Nazi spies, Don? Really?"

Don turned to face Charlie and grabbed him by the shoulders. "The Nazis are not dummies. They're not going to pick people who look like spies. And you seem to have forgotten that not only are we not supposed to discuss what happens at Station X; we're not supposed to even acknowledge its existence."

Charlie pulled away from Don, his face red with embarrassment. "Okay. You've made your point," he muttered. Without another glance at his brother, Charlie stalked away.

Larry risked a look at Don, gauging whether it was safe to speak. "Don," he said softly, "you're right. I won't bring it up any more."

"I know you're excited about the work there, but you've got to remember what's at stake."

Larry nodded sadly. "Charles and I are not accustomed to the stakes being so high."

Don watched his brother walking quickly away. "I shouldn't have been so hard on him."

"He'll get over it. Just give him a few minutes." Larry chuckled. "Does he have the key to the school house, or do you?"

"I've got it," Don said with a grin. "He's going to have to wait for me anyway."

After a few minutes, Charlie began to slow down, letting Don and Larry catch up to him. "You were right," he said without turning to face them. "I'm sorry."

Don jogged to catch up and put his arm around Charlie's shoulders. "I shouldn't have yelled at you, Buddy. I'm sorry. Hey, there's a pub up there. You want to get a quick bite to eat before you go to work?"

Charlie pulled out his watch. "It's 6:43. Just in time for opening. I'm starved." He scowled at Don.

Don grinned. "You'll live. But a nice pint of warm beer would taste pretty good about now."

"You'd better believe it," Charlie tucked his watch back into his vest pocket. "And I'm buying."

"That's good. You understand the currency over here a lot better than I do. Why couldn't they just go with a hundred pennies to the pound?"

Charlie shrugged. "Little kids over here seem to understand pounds and shillings and pence just fine. There's twenty shillings to a pound and twelve pence to a shilling."

"So there's two hundred forty pennies to a pound," Don said. "I still think a hundred would be easier for non mathematicians and non-British adults."

"Sadly, I'm sure they'll convert some day," Larry said. "There's something reassuring about the ancient way of doing things."

"Okay," Don said, "there's going to be people in there who are wondering what the heck we're doing in their town. We need something to tell them. I suggest we just say our government asked us to provide whatever help the local police need and end it there."

Larry nodded. "We could say that we're also going to accompany the victim's body home."

"That sounds good. It would explain the presence of civilians. Hey, the victim's Jewish, right? You think you could pass for rabbis?"

Charlie snorted. "Not without some preparation. How about family members?"

"What if they ask us about her?" Larry asked. "We don't know much about the victim."

"And they know even less," Don said. "How about you're her cousin who happened to be over here when Miss Levine was killed, and Larry's your colleague?"

Charlie nodded. "That could work. Okay, let's get something to eat."

They approached the centuries old pub, and Don held open the rough hewn wooden door. The cheerful hubbub inside stilled as the newcomers entered. Don removed his cap and glanced around the room at the curious faces. He smiled and nodded. "Hello."

A few of the locals nodded, and the brawny landlord behind the counter said, "Good evening gentlemen. What can I get you?"

After studying the posted menu for a moment, Charlie asked, "How's the fish today?"

"It's actually very nice. The boys had a good catch this morning."

After a brief consultation, Charlie told the landlord, "We'd like three orders of fish and chips and three pints."

The landlord pointed to their left. "You get your pints at the bar. I'll bring your dinners to you when they're ready." He rang up their bill on an ancient cash register, and Charlie paid.

The bartender looked like an elderly, withered version of the landlord. He looked up without smiling and said, "Three pints?"

"Yes, sir. Thank you," Don said, hoping his smile would draw an answering smile from the elderly bartender.

The man nodded, pulled out three pint mugs and filled them without comment. "There ye go," he said. When Charlie thanked him and handed him the payment, he nodded again and said, "Ye're welcome."

They settled down at an empty table a little bit removed from the other patrons. Don took a long, appreciative sip of his beer. "Warm or not, it's still very good."

The landlord appeared, expertly balancing three plates of fried fish and French fries. "Enjoy yourselves and give me a shout if you need anything else. Name's Eddie."

They thanked Eddie and dug into their meals. Don picked up the bottle of vinegar and grimaced as he sprinkled it on his fish and chips. "If I'd known ketchup would be so hard to come by over here, I would have brought some with me."

Charlie chuckled as Don handed him the bottle. "I'm actually starting to like vinegar. You think we'll be able to get it in restaurants back home?"

"Maybe you'll need to bring it with you."

Larry had leaned back in his chair, and was studying their surroundings. "We'll be bringing a lot back with us, won't we? Just think, we Americans have been very isolated over the decades. Now we've got a generation of young men and women who have traveled in Europe and Asia. When the war is over, they'll be bringing their experiences back home with them. I have a feeling this will change our country forever."

"It will," Charlie said softly. "No matter how this war turns out, I don't think the world will ever be the same again."

Don agreed. "And it'll be more than ketchup and vinegar. Well, let's eat and get on with what we came here for."

Charlie savored his first bite of fish. "Eddie's right. The fish is great. Even without ketchup."

Don drained the last of his beer and pulled a cigar out of his breast pocket. "You guys ready to go?" He asked as he lit the cigar.

"I couldn't eat another bite," Larry leaned back and rubbed his belly. "That was excellent."

Charlie had pulled out a small notebook from his pocket and was making notes as he finished his last chip. He looked up when Don nudged him. "Yeah, let's go. I'm beginning to see the patterns already." He stopped at Don's warning glance and stuffed the notebook back into his pocket. "Let's go."

They stepped out into the drizzling rain and opened their umbrellas. "How much farther to the school?" Charlie asked.

"I think we're almost there," Don said. "There's the police station." He turned as the pub door opened behind them, and the bartender stepped out into the rain. Don nodded in greeting.

The bartender hurried to them, shivering as the rain soaked his shirt. "Ye're here about that murdered Jewish girl, ain't ye?"

"Why?" Don asked.

As the bartender walked away, he said, "Wouldn't want anything to happen to ye."

"Wait," Don started after the bartender. "What are you talking about?"

The bartender stopped and turned around. "Ye hear things tending bar. There's people around here who don't want the Allies to win this thing. I'm not saying they'd do anything to ye, but I just thought I should warn ye. I don't know nothin' specific, mind ye. Just a feelin'." He opened the pub door and went back inside.

As Don retuned, Charlie chuckled nervously. "Well, that was odd. All we need now is a wolf howling and chains rattling."

Don took a drag on his cigar. "This isn't a horror movie. It's real life. Unfortunately."


	8. Chapter 8

The drizzle had become a cloudburst when they arrived at the school. Charlie shivered as they shook their umbrellas and left them standing in the lobby. "I'm going to light the fire," he said, teeth chattering.

"Good idea," Don said as he locked the door behind them. "I'm going to have a look around."

Larry gave Don a concerned glance. "Do you think there's someone else here?"

Don shrugged. "I just don't want to take any chances. I'll be right back. You guys go ahead and get started."

Larry shuddered and joined Charlie in the classroom. While the younger professor was struggling to light the fire, Larry turned on the lights and placed chalk on the blackboard trays. He then pulled out the typewritten copy of the coded message and began writing it on the board, grouping the letters in fives as they were grouped in the original message.

Charlie blew on the embers, and the fire jumped to life. He stood and took out his copy of the message. When he found where Larry was, he began to read the letters. "Thank you," Larry said. "This is much faster." Soon the board was filled with the two hundred forty nine letters of the message.

SQETF VAEBW PRYZB GITHU UPVCL GYTVJ ARNYI PVCTC IKVBT VIYLZ AZWKH OXTJG VALTF CLWGW CBPTE SIIHA TWEJA ZXDSI AAAPA ZSTUP OEVEG LWJLK HYHJB JTWXV YVXWM QHJXE LNPVW DSIRM LEVVS EBWPG YWOTH VHVRE LZUOR ZYELM WNSEA IVEQV HALZS EHARZ YYHDX LGTVU IWMJO MWJSL YUBDW ZVVGP BKKZH AAZST UPMEA PXHLZ AMYPE KOMK

Don crept up behind Charlie. "What?" he said, with a chuckle. "You don't have it decoded yet?"

Charlie jumped and scowled at his brother. "Very funny, Donald. I take it you didn't find any bogeymen."

"Nope." Don pulled a chair around and sat looking at the board. "So what do you do now?"

"Our first step is to find out how long the key word is," Larry said. "We do that by looking for repetitions."

"Why does that work?"

"Well," Charlie said, "we're assuming that this is a Vigenere cipher, a multiple alphabet cipher."

Seeing the confused expression on Don's face, he went to the blackboard adjacent to the one where Larry had written the coded message. He wrote the alphabet across the top, then beneath it he wrote 'b, c, d' continuing to 'z' and then added 'a.' The third row started with 'c' and ended with 'b', going down until he was finished with the alphabet.

As he wrote, he said, "For example, if we have a key word 'Charlie' ,we would use letters that come from the C-H-A-R-L-I-E rows. The first letter in the message is 's', so we'd look along the row beginning with 'c', find the 's' and follow the column up to the regular alphabet and find the letter 'q'." He turned to face Don. "Got it?"

Don nodded. "I think so. If our keyword were 'Charlie,' you'd find the second letter in the coded message, 'q' in the alphabet that starts with 'h'."

"Right, that would be 'j'," Charlie said, writing 'q' above the 's' in the coded message, and 'j' above the 'q' in the message. "And since there are no words in English or German that start with 'qj' , we can assume that 'Charlie' is not our keyword."

"So how do you find the keyword?"

"Like I said, we look for repetitions. We prefer three letters or more. We could do two letter repetitions, but they're too common, and they screw things up." He gazed at the code for a long moment, and then circled 'EBWP' where it appeared twice in the message. Larry stepped up and circled 'DSI' twice, and 'STUP' twice.

Charlie rubbed out part of Larry's circles with his finger and extended the circles to include 'AZ' .

"Excellent, Charles, nice catch," Larry said, nodding.

Don stepped to the board and pointed. "You got 'RZY' there twice."

"I think he's got it," Charlie said, with a laugh. After a few more minutes and a few more repetitions, he said, "I think that's it. Okay, we're going to do a Kasiski test, which could just as easily been a Babbage test, since Babbage actually discovered this method before Kasiski, but since Kasiski published his findings first … ."

"Okay, okay!" Don held up both of his hands. "Does it matter what it's called?"

"It does it you're Charles Babbage," Larry said. "But to us, it's not really significant. Continue, Charles."

"Even though we have several alphabets, we still have a possibility that some coded sequences will repeat. If we can determine that spacing between those repetitions, we can determine the length of the key word. That will bring us one step closer to being able to decipher the code."

"Why? I mean, what difference does it make how long the word is?" Don asked.

"If we know that the keyword is seven letters long, we'll know we're dealing with seven individual alphabets. It's a lot easier to decipher an individual alphabet," Charlie mumbled, as he stared at the board.

"Okay, I get that, but how do you know which letters are which?" Don said, as he took out a cigar, thinking it was going to be a long night.

Larry pointed at the letters Charlie had written on the board earlier in the day. "That's where our friend 'Etaoin Shrdlu' comes in. We know the normal frequency of letters in the English language. If we count the occurrences of letters in our individual code alphabets, and chart them against the normal distribution, we can start guessing which letters are which."

"Guessing? How long does this take?"

Charlie shrugged. "It depends on how good a guesser is involved. Larry and I have become pretty good at guessing. I'd say a day or two at the most." He grinned at Don. "So you'd better get move on if you're going to get Sam to go on a date with you."

Don scowled at his brother. "Shaddup and tell me more about the visioneer cipher."

"Vigenere. It's French. Anyhoo, now we get back to our keyword length. We'll start with 'EBWP' and count the letters separating the two occurrences. I get one hundred thirty-eight."

Below the coded message, Charlie drew a chart. Down the left hand column, he wrote the six repetitions they had found, 'AZSTUP, EBWP, PVC, LZA, DSI, and RZY' . He drew a vertical line, then next to ʻEBWPʼ, wrote 138. He drew another series of vertical lines and labeled the columns '2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14 and 15'. "We need to calculate the factors. You do remember factors, don't you, Don?"

Don rolled his eyes. "Of course I remember. Factors are the building blocks of numbers. The distance between occurrences of ʻEBWPʼ is one hundred thirty-eight, so two is a factor."

"Right. And so are three and six," Charlie put checkmarks in the two, three and six boxes following ʻEBWPʼ. "The longer the repeated sequence, the more accurate it can be. So this," he tapped ʻAZSTUPʼ, "may be the most helpful of all." His eyes scanned the code quickly and he wrote, '132' next to AZSTUP. "Now, Don, what are the factors for one hundred thirty-two?"

"Well, Teach, let's see. Two, of course. Three! Is four?"

"Yep," Charlie put checkmarks in the boxes. "Also, six, eleven and twelve."

"Show off." Don glared at Charlie, take a puff from his cigar.

Charlie laughed. When he finished the chart, he stepped back. "Now, we just look for common factors that will help us decide the keyword length. They all have factors of two, so that's not help. I doubt our keyword is two letters long. That would be too easy." He circled the three and six columns. "Four of the sequences have factors of three and six. Three of them have factors of twelve."

"What about those other two? ʻPVCʼ and ʻLZAʼ?" Don asked. "They don't seem to match with any of the others. They don't even match with each other."

"They don't," Larry agreed. "I would discard them, assuming they're coincidences."

"I agree," Charlie said, crossing out ʻPVCʼ and ʻLZAʼ on his chart. "So that leaves us with factors of two, three, four, six, eight and twelve. Three and six appear more than the others, so I'm going to start with the assumption that our word is six letters long."

As Charlie began underlining every seventh letter when they were interrupted by a pounding at the front door. Don put his cigar out and unsnapped his holster. With his right hand on his sidearm, he headed toward the door. "Stay here!" he ordered.

Charlie started to follow, but Larry grabbed his arm. "Don't," he said. "You heard him."

Charlie pulled his arm free. "I'm just going to the doorway. That counts as staying here."

Larry rolled his eyes, but he followed Charlie to the doorway. "I want to see you explain that to Don."

They heard voices coming from the lobby, and a moment later, Don entered the hallway, followed by DCS Foyle and Sam Stewart. "Hey," he called, "I thought I told you to stay put."

"No," Charlie said calmly. "You said to stay here. I have chosen to define 'here' as the confines of this classroom."

Don chuckled and turned to Foyle. "See what I have to put up with?" He led the way into the classroom, and said, "Charlie, we need to lower the blackout shades. Mr. Foyle saw the lights from the street while he was on his way home, and stopped by to remind us."

As Sam helped the Americans lower the shades, Foyle studied the blackboards. "It appears you're making progress."

Charlie glanced over his shoulder. "We just started. I'm guessing we have a day or two before we're done."

Foyle nodded. "Very good. Is there anything you need from us?"

"We'll need paper, preferably graph paper." Charlie glanced at Larry. "Unless you found some when you found the chalk."

Don saw his opportunity and seized it. "Why don't Sam and I check the other classrooms for graph paper while you explain your procedure to Mr. Foyle?"

Charlie met his eyes and suppressed a grin. "Excellent idea. Mr. Foyle, are you familiar with the Vigenere cipher?"


	9. Chapter 9

Don opened the classroom door and waved Sam through. "After you, Miss Stewart."

"Thank you, Captain Eppes," Sam said, grinning broadly. When they were in the hallway, she said, "I have a sneaking suspicion you and your brother planned that little maneuver."

Don blinked with feigned innocence. "What little maneuver was that?" He held the door of the next classroom open.

Sam entered the room and turned on the lights. "Oh, come on. I've met Yanks before. I know how you lot operate."

Don stopped and studied Sam's face carefully. "Was it a bad experience? Is that why you're reluctant to go to the movie with me?"

"Oh, no. Nothing horrible happened. In fact it was rather pleasant. He was a nice boy, very polite actually. He even proposed to me, but we'd only known each other such a short while, and I wasn't ready to rush into anything, so I broke it off. No traumatic experience. Just a detour not taken." She crossed the room and began opening closet doors.

Don went to the desk in the front of the room and pulled the drawers open. "That's good. I would hate to be in the position of having to apologize for the behavior of every GI in England."

"Captain Eppes! You're not implying that I dated every GI in England, are you?"

Don blushed and stammered, "No … not at all. I … I … I'm sorry if I … ." He stopped, noticing Sam's smirk. "Okay. You got me. I think I'm going to quit while I'm ahead and look for some graph paper."

"Who says you're ahead?"

Don rolled his eyes and began opening desk drawers. "All right. I'll quit before I get further behind. How's that?"

"Sounds good to me." Sam closed the closet doors. "Did you find anything?"

"Nope. Clean as a whistle," Don said. "Let's try the next room." As they left the room, he reached in and turned off the lights. "See. I'm learning."

"You don't have air raids and blackouts at home, do you?"

"No. That's the nice thing about being so far away from the war. We don't have to worry about attacks at home."

"There was Pearl Harbor," Sam said as she pulled the next door open.

"There was that," Don said sadly.

"Did you lose anyone in that attack? I mean, you personally."

"Yeah," Don's voice was so soft Sam had to move closer to hear him. "My buddy Billy; he was on the Arizona. He rescued four other guys before he died. They said he was so badly injured he shouldn't have been able to move, but he managed to drag four other guys to safety." He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "It was a huge blow to the whole country. We thought we were isolated from all the insanity that was going on in Europe and Asia, you know? Then all of a sudden, BANG, our guys were dying. And not just soldiers and sailors. Our civilians were dying too. It woke a lot of people up."Don sat down in the desk chair and began opening drawers.

"Well, I'm sorry it had to happen that way, but I'm glad people woke up. It's odd," Sam said slowly, as she opened the closet door, sadly shaking her head, "you'd think everybody here would be behind the war effort, with all that we've been through. But we still have Mosleyites and the Friday Club and people who just don't understand or just don't care at all."

"You told me about the Friday Club, but who are the Mosleyites?"

"Well, between the wars, a chap named Oswald Mosley formed the British Union of Fascism. He called the war against Germany a Jewish war that we had no right being involved in. He's a horrible man, and, thank goodness, he's in prison now and I hope he rots there. If you can believe, there are people who are lobbying to have him released. His followers are horrid people who attack Jews just for being Jewish." She stopped, noticing as Don's expression hardened. "You're Jewish, aren't you?"

"Yes, I am." Don nodded. "We've had some encounters with anti-Semitism since we've been here."

"Here? In Hastings?" Sam looked utterly shocked.

"No, not in Hastings. In London."

Sam sighed and shook her head. "They're a bit of an odd lot up there, if you ask me. I think it's a matter of squeezing so many people into one place." She lifted a lid and glanced into a box. "What do they need graph paper for?"

"Who knows? Charlie tried to explain what they're doing. I got a little of it. He didn't get to the graph paper part yet."

"So it wasn't just an excuse to send the two of us off on a wild goose chase?"

"Nah. Charlie's too serious about decrypting that message."

"I saw the look he gave you when you made the suggestion."

"I think he thought I had ulterior motives."

"And do you?"

Don gave Sam a brilliant grin. "Who wouldn't want to spend time with a lovely young lady?"

It was Sam's turn to blush. She rummaged through the items in the closet without answering. After a few long moments of silence, she said, "I would like to see that film, 'Sullivan's Travels,' and it's always more enjoyable going to the cinema with someone else."

"Even with a Yank who's way too forward?" Don asked softly.

Sam turned and faced him. "I believe seeing an American film with a Yank is the best way to go. I may need a translator," Sam said, acting quite cheeky.

Don threw back his head and laughed. "Wasn't it Mr. Churchill who said, ʻwe're two nations divided by a common language?ʼ"

Sam pulled out a package of paper from the closet. "I do believe you're right. And, I think I've found some graph paper." She tore a corner of the package open and peeked at the paper inside. "All right, then. Now I can find out what on earth those two are going to do with this."

"And we can rescue Mr. Foyle from the lecture he's receiving about code breaking." Don checked his watch. "What time is the movie? Do we have time to see it tonight?"

"Well, I need to take Mr. Foyle home first, and then I want to stop by my place and change out of this uniform. By the time I finish all that, it'd be too late"

"Shall we plan on tomorrow night?" Don opened the classroom door, turned off the light and ushered Sam into the corridor.

"That would be perfect. Besides, I'd really like to stay here for a while and see how your brother and Dr. Fleinhardt are planning on figuring out that message. I mean, I saw the message, and it was so much gibberish. I can't believe they can make sense out of it."

"It really is interesting what they do. Not that I understand a lot of it."

"Oh, don't be so humble. You can't have achieved the rank of captain without being smart."

Don shrugged. "Yeah, well, when you have a genius for a brother, it's hard to compete."

Sam patted Don's arm. "So, don't compete. You live your life, and let him live his."

"We did that for years. Now we're kind of stuck together on this assignment here. I mean, it's not a bad thing. We really do get along well, but … ." He stopped and shook his head. "I don't know why I'm telling you all this. Come on. Let's get this paper to the two geniuses and watch them work their magic."

Don expected to see Larry and Charlie lecturing a nearly comatose Detective Chief Inspector. He was pleasantly surprised to see Foyle standing at the blackboard, alongside the two professors. They had added six lists of letters to the blackboards. And Foyle was tallying the 'a's in one list. He turned around. "Welcome back, you two. I trust you've found what you were looking for."

"Sam found the graph paper," Don said.

Charlie studied his brother's face. "Is that _all_ you found?"

Don narrowed his eyes at Charlie. "Yeah. That's all. Why? You need something else?"

"Nope," Charlie took the graph paper Sam handed him. "This is great, Sam. Thanks!"

"So what's the next step?" Sam asked. "What are you going to use the graph paper for?"

Charlie sat at the desk and finished opening the package of paper. He slipped a stack of sheets from the package and pulled a folded sheet of paper from his breast pocket. "This is a bar chart showing the frequency of letters in the English language." He smiled up at Sam. "Our old friend ʻEtaoin Shrdlu.' " He touched the tallest bar. "This is 'e,' and here's 't.' "

Foyle nodded his understanding. "Then you'll make bar charts from these six lists of letters and compare them with the normal frequency."

"Right," Larry said. "Though with a sample this small, the distribution is not always identical to the standard." He ran his finger along the tops of the bars on Charlie's chart. "So we look for similar peaks and valleys. Then, when we think we have the graphs coordinated properly, we start substituting letters. If the result is nonsense, we try again. There's a lot of trial and error involved."

"Fascinating," Foyle said. "It's not unlike solving a crime, is it?" He turned to Don. "Captain Eppes, do you have any experience in law enforcement?"

"Some. After I graduated from college, I joined the Los Angeles Police Department. After about two years on the force, they sent me to the FBI's National Academy for training, and, well, I was hooked. I decided to join the FBI and leave LAPD. Boy, were they ticked."

"So you're an FBI agent?"

Don shook his head, sadly. "I started my training, but a couple weeks later was Kristallnacht. I sat in my room, reading the articles about Hitler and Goebbels and the atrocities they committed against the Jews – against my people, maybe even some of my relatives, and I couldn't stand by and watch, you know? I quit the FBI and enlisted in the army. I'm hoping when this is over, the FBI will take me back."

Foyle chuckled. "Oh, I imagine they'll understand."

"I hope so. Why did you want to know about my law enforcement experience?"

"Just curious. Sergeant Milner mentioned that he thought you had the makings of a good detective. Did you have an opportunity to speak with Miss Buonaroti yet?"

"Not yet. We wanted to get back here and start on the decryption. We took a few minutes to unpack and headed over here. We'll be having breakfast at the inn, so maybe we'll see her then. That is, if I manage to tear these two away from their work before then."

Foyle glanced at the two professors. "Bessie Weeks is an excellent cook, and breakfast at the White Feather is one of the best in town. It would be a shame to miss it."

Sam laughed. "If you've never had a true English breakfast, you don't know what you're missing. It's enough to take you through the day, even in these days of rationing."

"You know," Charlie said, looking up from the graph he was creating, "it's unfortunate we're all men."

"What do you mean?" Don looked confused.

"Well, maybe Miss Buonaroti would be more comfortable talking to another woman. Maybe we could impose on Miss Stewart to join us for breakfast?"

"Charlie," Don said in warning, "I'm sure Miss Stewart has other things to do. And we don't even know if Miss Buonaroti eats breakfast. This might all be a waste of time."

"I thought it was worth a chance. If you don't think so … ." Charlie shrugged and went back to his work.

Larry picked up a piece of graph paper and stood. "I think it's an excellent idea, Charles. Then she could drive us here on the way to work. We wouldn't want to impose, of course, if Miss Stewart would rather not … ."

"I … uh …" Sam looked to Foyle for help. "What do you think, Sir? Breakfast would be nice, and if I could be of any help with the case, assuming of course that our quarry will be there, I'd … ."

"I think it's a good idea. If you don't mind having breakfast at the White Feather, that is."

"Mind? I'd love to," Sam squeaked. Blushing, Sam changed tactics, "Uh … no, I don't mind at all."

"Excellent. Why don't you take the car home with you tonight, meet these gentlemen for breakfast, then drop them off here and pick me up when you've finished? Then you can fill me in on what you've learned." He paused, smiling. "And you can tell me if the breakfast there is really as good as everyone says it is."

"Oh, I'll give you a full report, Sir." She turned to Don. "What time should I meet you?"

Don shook his head. "I have no idea. Let me call the hotel and see what time they serve breakfast." Don, Sam and Foyle went into the lobby, and Don called the inn.

Bessie Weeks picked up the phone almost immediately. "Good evening. You've reached the White Feather."

"Bessie? This is Don Eppes. I was wondering what time you're serving breakfast tomorrow. I've heard your breakfast is the best in Hastings."

Bessie laughed. "If I pass that on to the cook, he'd probably cook breakfast any time you wished. But we normally serve from seven until nine in the morning. Oh, and I saw Miss Buonaroti. She's anxious to meet you. I told her I'd contact her when I see you again."

"That's good. We're anxious to meet her as well. All right then, we'll see you in a little while." When he hung up, he and Sam agreed that they would meet in the lobby at seven thirty in the morning.

Foyle said, "Well, I think we'd better leave you to your work, then. Would you like Sam to pick you up and take you back to your hotel?"

"I don't think that's necessary," Don said. "It's not that long a walk, and I don't know how long those two will be at it, now that they have their graph paper."

"Let's go back and say good night to the professors, shall we?" Foyle said as he led the way back to the classroom.

"Very good, Sir," Sam said as she and Don followed.

After Sam and Foyle left, Don pulled a chair over near the desk where Charlie sat. He lit the cigar he started earlier and leaned back in the chair. "So, what's with all the matchmaking, Chuck?"

"Matchmaking? I thought you wanted to spend some time with Sam, and I figured I'd help expedite the process. We're not going to be here that long, remember."

Don rolled his eyes. "You're pretty sure of your cryptanalytical ability. But I don't need your help. I'm fully capable to handling this myself. In fact, Sam's agreed to go to the movie with me tomorrow night. We would have gone tonight, but it's getting to be too late."

Charlie grinned. "Attaboy! She's a doll. Of course, you never would have had the chance to ask her if I hadn't asked for graph paper."

"But it was my idea for Sam and me to go looking for it."

"He's got you there, Charles," Larry said, handing Charlie a bar graph. "There's the fifth alphabet for you. How's number six coming?"

"Just about done."

Don leaned across the desk and picked up several of the charts. Charlie handed him the chart showing the English language frequencies. "Here. Put this on the desk, and line up one of the chart of one of the letters below it."

Don took the chart labeled 'Letter One' and lined it up with the chart labeled 'English Language.' "You're right, Larry. These don't look anything alike."

Larry and Charlie both leaned over to get a closer look at the two graphs. "True," Larry said, "but look for any similarity in pattern. I like to start with 'e' in the plaintext. That's cryptanalyst talk for the English language graph. So look on your Letter One graph for the biggest bar. See if it makes some sense to line that up with the 'e' in the plaintext."

Don slid the charts until the 'h' in the Letter One graph lined up under the 'e.ʼ "So what does that mean?"

"If this is correct, it means Letter One is 'd.' You go back on the plaintext chart until you get to 'a.' The coded letter that lines up with 'a' is 'd,' so 'd' is your first letter."

Charlie shook his head. "I don't know, Larry. We can try that, but I like this." He slid the Letter One chart to the left until the 'h' lined up with the plaintext 'a.'

Larry nodded. "It could be either way, don't you think?"

"It could. Okay. We'll try yours first, and then mine. How about the second letter?"

Charlie pulled out the chart for the second letter and lined it up with the plaintext chart.

Larry slid the two charts until the plaintext 'a' lined up with the 'i' on the Letter 2 chart. "How's that look?"

"I like it," Charlie said. "What do you think, Don?"

Don shrugged. "Looks okay to me. So, what, that give us d-i for the first two letters? Right?"

"Or h-i," Charlie said with a grin.

Larry walked to the board and wrote 'D-I' above the coded message.

They continued the process until they had settled on 'DITSEF' as the keyword. "Ditsef?" Don muttered. "That's no English word I've ever heard of."

"That's just our starting point," Larry said, fatigue creeping into his voice. "What time is it, anyway?"

Don checked his wristwatch. "It's after ten. If we're going to meet Sam for breakfast, we'd better wrap things up for tonight."

Charlie rubbed his eyes and gathered up the charts. "I'll bring these along with me and have a look at them before I got to sleep."

"Buddy," Don said, taking the charts from Charlie's hands and putting them back on the desk. "After that long walk to the inn, you're just going to want to hit the hay."

Charlie looked regretfully at the stack of papers. "I do believe you're right. There will be plenty of time after breakfast."

Author's Note: Unfortunately, doesn't allow images to be uploaded. For those of you who, like me, do better understanding this stuff if you can see pictures, I've uploaded images of the bar graphs for the English language and the first two letters of the keywords at the end of this chapter in numb3rs dot org. You can see them here: http:// www(dot)fanrush(dot)?t=20405 I had to type "(dot)" because fanfiction . net will make it disappear otherwise.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Charlie crawled out of bed and stumbled to the door, putting his robe on. He pulled the door open. "What?!"

"Time to rise and shine." Don stood, grinning, neatly pressed and polished in his uniform, holding his cap under his arm. "Come on. Sam will be here in fifteen minutes."

"You should have woke me up earlier." Charlie stretched and yawned widely, then stumbled back into his room, scratching his head. "I hope they have coffee."

Don followed him in, chuckling. "Probably. Restaurants are exempt from rationing, thank goodness."

"That's good. Have a seat," Charlie waved vaguely at the chair where he had left his carpetbag. "Which way is the washroom?"

Don pointed. "That way."

Charlie paused in the doorway. "Is Larry up yet?"

"Oh, yeah. He was up before me. I think he's gone outside for a walk. Go on, get prettied up for the ladies."

Fifteen minutes later, Don and Charlie came down the stairs. Sam and Larry stood in the lobby chatting. "Sorry we're late," Don said. "I had a hard time waking Sleeping Beauty up."

"Ignore him," Charlie said, nudging Don. "Good morning, Sam. Hi, Larry."

"Good morning!" Sam glanced toward the dining room. "Are you ready to tackle a true English breakfast?"

"As long as it includes lots of coffee," Charlie said with a sleepy grin.

"What's wrong, Chuck?" Don asked as they made their way into the dining room. "I thought we got back in time to get plenty of sleep."

"We did. But I couldn't shut my brain off. I kept running those letters through my head all night long. I should have brought the papers with me. At least I would have accomplished something worthwhile."

Don patted Charlie on the shoulder. "You've got to learn to quit, Buddy."

"I know, wish I could. But this is just who I am. I guess I've got to live with it. How's that table?" Charlie pointed to a large round table near the window. "It looks like it'll seat five. If Miss Buonaroti shows up, that is."

Once they were seated, Larry said, "Charlie, you should take a walk around the grounds with me after breakfast. The peace and beauty here will clear your mind."

"I'll try that," Charlie nodded. "Of course, I'll just clutter it back up when we get to the classroom."

"There they are!" Bessie Weeks' voice carried through the dining room. "Come, Dear. I'll introduce you." Bessie was leading a young dark haired woman by the hand toward them.

When Bessie and the woman reached the table, the men stood. "You folks have been like ships passing in the night. Well, you've finally met up. Miss Anna Buonaroti, meet Captain Don Eppes, Professors Charles Eppes and Lawrence Fleinhardt. I think you've met Miss Samantha Stewart."

Anna reached out and shook hands with Sam. "No, we haven't had the pleasure. Though your boss did mention you. Nice to meet you, Samantha."

"Please, call me Sam," Sam said immediately.

Anna then turned and shook hands with each man in turn. "Captain Eppes, Professors, it's nice to meet fellow Americans. Thank you, Bessie," she added as Bessie left.

"Miss Buonaroti," Don said as he grasped her hand. "Please have a seat and join us for breakfast." He pulled out a chair between himself and Charlie. Once everyone was seated, he continued, "We're so sorry to hear about your friend. Is there anything we can do to help?"

"Well," Anna said, "first of all you can call me Anna. Bessie tells me you're already doing something to help the police find out who killed Sharon. Are you police or something?"

"How long have you and Miss Levine been here?" Don asked.

"Oh, no. You're not going to get out of answering my question. What are you three guys doing here?"

Don sighed, and leaned a little closer to Anna. "An item was found on Miss Levine's person that led the police to contact the Home Office, and Home Office contacted our government."

"What item? Is it connected with her death?"

"I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to discuss it. I'll let you know as soon as I'm allowed to."

"I guess I'll have to be satisfied with that. I'm not surprised she found something that got two governments involved. She was worried that the Nazi spies were active here, you know. I think she stumbled upon something that got her killed. I wish we had her cameras. She took pictures of everything. She figured better to spend a lot of money on film and not risk missing the perfect shot. But the police didn't find her cameras. Just her bag and tripod." Anna stopped speaking, pulled out a lace handkerchief that was tucked in her sleeve and started to wipe her eyes. "It doesn't seem real. The police haven't let me see her yet. It's like she'll walk in here any minute with some bizarre story about spies or something."

Charlie touched Anna's hand gently. "We're doing everything we can to find out who did this to her." He glanced at Don. "Could we ask Mr. Foyle if he'd let Anna identify the body?" He turned back to Anna. "Would that help?"

Anna shook her head. "The only thing that would help at this point would be for this all to be a bad dream." She sniffed into the handkerchief. "You know, I pride myself on being a tough reporter, but this has thrown me for a loop. Sharon was such a great kid." She stopped and smiled sadly. "It's funny. I call her a kid, but she was my age. She was just so inquisitive and naïve. Just like a kid."

Charlie was at a loss for words. He could only nod sympathetically and squeeze Anna's hand. Fortunately a waitress approached the table at that moment. "Would you folks like the full breakfast or would you care to order from the menu?"

Don glanced around the table, then said, "We've heard so much about the full breakfast, I think we'd better have that. Everyone agree? Miss Buonaroti?"

The others agreed, and Anna pulled her hand from Charlie's, dabbed her eyes again and added, "Sounds good to me."

"All righty, then," the waitress said. "And to drink?"

Everyone requested coffee, except Sam and Larry who asked for tea.

"I'll be right back with your beverages. The breakfast will be a few."

"So," Larry asked when the waitress had left, "exactly what's included in a full breakfast?"

Anna grinned. "Oh, it varies day to day. It's usually bubble and squeak, sometimes bangers and mash. Usually black pudding and bacon, scrambled eggs and fried mushrooms. And stewed tomatoes. Always stewed tomatoes. And toast."

Larry's eyes widened during Anna's narrative. "Oh, my. I imagine that's why they call it full. We'll certainly be full when we finish all that."

"What's bubble and squeak?" Don asked, looking concerned.

Sam laughed. "Don't worry. It's nothing to be afraid of. It's just last night's leftover vegetables fried with mashed potatoes and a bit of meat. Waste not, want not. That's what we always say."

"And bangers and mash?" Charlie asked.

"That's just sausage links with mashed potatoes," Anna said. "It's taking some getting used to, having potatoes for breakfast. That, and the tomatoes."

"Really?" Sam asked. "What do you Yanks eat for breakfast, then, if not potatoes and tomatoes?"

"Eggs and bacon, or sausages," Anna said, "and toast. Sometimes oatmeal or cold cereal."

"Oh my," Sam said. "That doesn't seem like much. How does that keep you going through the day?"

Anna laughed. "There was a poem in Punch, by a man named A.P. Herbert. 'O breakfast! O breakfast! The meal of my heart! Bring porridge, bring sausage, bring fish for a start, Bring kidneys and mushrooms and partridges' legs, But let the foundation be bacon and eggs.' I think that sums up the British attitude toward breakfast, don't you, Sam?"

Sam joined in the laughter. "Oh, my, yes. Of course, since the war started, things have been rather scarce."

"I thought restaurants were exempt from rationing," Charlie said.

"They are. But not even restaurants can buy something that's not there."

"True," Charlie said with a nod. "I keep forgetting what it's like over here."

The waitress returned, carrying a coffeepot in one hand and a teapot in the other. She set the teapot on the table and poured coffee. "Your breakfast will be here in just a moment."

Don picked up the sugar bowl and noticed it was nearly empty. He handed it to Anna, who shook her head and passed it on to Charlie. Charlie picked up his spoon, ready to add his customary two spoonfuls of sugar to his coffee. But when he looked into the sugar bowl, he set down his spoon and passed the bowl on. "I guess sugar is one of those things that's become scarce."

"It is," Sam said, helping herself to a spoonful of sugar. "Which is why I enjoy it when I can."

Don laughed. "Sam Stewart, you are something else."

"I'm really not certain how to take that, so I will choose to take it as a compliment. Thank you, Captain Eppes. Ooh, look! Here comes our breakfast."

Their waitress crossed the room, carrying a large tray. She set the tray on a neighboring table and began distributing plates. "Here you are, then. Full English all around. Can I bring you anything else?"

"I think we're set for now. Thank you!" Don said as he examined his plate.

Once the waitress was gone, Sam pointed to her plate. "This rather greenish mixture is bubble and squeak. These black slices are black pudding. It's a kind of sausage, not what you Yanks would consider a pudding at all. And here's your bangers and mash. I think the rest is easily identifiable, but don't hesitate to ask if you need any help."

Anna held up a bottle with 'HP' on the label. "What's this? I've seen it here every morning and have been afraid to try it."

"Ah, that's brown sauce. It's very good on the sausage, and on just about everything on your plate, actually."

"What's in it?" Anna looked skeptically at the bottle.

"Oh, I don't know. Tomato? Spices? Vinegar? Something sweet too. Just pour out a dab on your plate and take a taste. Then pass the bottle over here."

"Hey," Charlie grinned at Don. "Maybe we've found the substitute for your elusive ketchup."

Don watched as Anna poured some of the sauce near the rim of her plate. "It doesn't look like ketchup. But, hey, it's worth a try."

Anna passed the bottle to Sam and used her fork to dip a piece of black pudding into the sauce. "Mmmm. It tastes good. Kind of like A1 Sauce. But you put it on everything? We just put it on steak and burgers."

Sam handed the bottle to Don. "Well, here you go. A girl tried it. Are you man enough to give it a try?"

"Aw," Charlie chortled. "Now that sounds like a challenge to me, brother."

Don poured out a generous dollop and handed the bottle to his brother. "Well, you weren't brave enough to try it either."

"I didn't want to grab it out of her hand. That wouldn't have been very gentlemanly." Once he had made sure his dollop was bigger than Don's he handed the bottle to Larry.

Don tasted the black pudding with brown sauce and nodded. "It is good. I don't know if it'd go with fish 'n' chips like ketchup, though."

Sam swallowed. "I've heard the Scottish like brown sauce with their fish, but down here we prefer vinegar."

Larry held up a piece of black pudding. "This is very good. What's it made of? What makes it so black?"

Sam started to answer, but Anna interrupted her. "You don't want to know. Trust me."

Larry scowled and put the pudding back on his plate.

"Oh, it's not all that bad," Sam scoffed. "It's just a blood sausage. The blood of a pig or cow is cooked with suet or oatmeal or some such thing."

"Oh my," Larry murmured as he stared at the pudding. Finally, he picked it up again. "Let's see if it tastes any different now that I know what it is." He took a tiny bite, brow furrowed. "It tastes just the same. Very good."

When they had cleaned their plates, including the black pudding, and had another round of coffee and tea, Larry leaned back and dabbed his lips with his napkin. "Well, Charlie, how about that walk around the grounds?"

Charlie glanced at Don and Sam. "Do we have time before we have to leave?"

Don checked his watch. "I think so. Sam? When do you have to be back?"

"My orders were to take as long as necessary."

"All right." Don stood, patting his belly. "I think we all could use a walk to work off this breakfast. Miss Buonaroti, would you care to join us?"

"I'd love to. I'm getting pretty bored around here. I wish the police would solve this, and release Sharon's body so I could just go back home." She pushed back her chair and stood, waving off Charlie's attempt to help her with her chair. "I'm a modern woman, Professor. I can get out of my chair myself."

Charlie reddened as he stepped back. "I'm sure you can. I'm a modern man, myself, but I was raised by a mother who would tan my hide if I forgot my manners. Old habits die hard."

"And that's part of the problem. Women are proving that they can do any job a man can do."

Larry and Don exchanged amused glances. "Larry," Don said, "why don't you show Sam and me the grounds? I hate the sight of blood."


	11. Chapter 11

Author's Note: After much thought, I decided to change Anita Buonaroti's name to Anna. I kept typing "Amita" for some strange reason.

Chapter 11

Don glanced up at the sky as he held the door for Sam and Larry. "It's a lot nicer out today than it was yesterday."

"Thank goodness for that," Sam said. "Though the rain is good for the garden, isn't it?"

"It is," Larry said. "And this garden is beautiful. Look at the rhododendrons over there. Aren't they amazing?"

"Those pink flowery bushes?" Don asked. "Sorry. I'm not really interested in gardening. They are pretty, though." He pulled a cigar from his pocket and lit it.

As Larry led the way to the rhododendrons, the door behind them opened again. They turned to see Charlie holding the door for a protesting Anna. Sam chuckled. "I see those two are still at it."

Don laughed and gave Charlie a wave. Softly, he said to Sam, "I'll bet he can't wait to get back to his code work. Miss Buonaroti seems to be giving him a piece of her mind."

"A piece I daresay she will sorely miss," Sam brushed past Don to join Larry next to the rhododendrons.

"Why, Miss Stewart," Don said in mocking sternness, "what did Miss Buonaroti ever do to you?" He drew deeply on his cigar and blew the smoke out in lazy rings.

"Nothing, to be perfectly honest. But she's just a bit brash for my tastes. And all that nonsense about being a modern woman. You catch more flies with honey than you do with vinegar, that's what they say, isn't it?"

Larry smirked. "You're assuming she wants to catch flies."

"Oh, that's just a figure of speech," Sam said.

"What's a figure of speech?" Charlie asked as he came up beside them.

"Nothing," Sam said hastily.

Charlie looked quizzically at Don, who said, "Nothing at all, Buddy." He glanced at Anna. "Have you two worked out your differences?"

"For now," Anna said. "I think I made myself clear to Charlie."

Charlie rolled his eyes. "Abundantly. So, Larry, this is the garden you wanted us to see?"

"It is." Larry filled his pipe and carefully tamped the tobacco down. "It's not quite as warm here as it is back home, but I do believe that being on the water makes the climate a great deal milder than it is inland." He lit the pipe. "We were just admiring these rhododendrons. And the camellias over there are just beautiful."

"They are," Charlie said. "When can we get back to work?"

"Soon enough, Buddy," Don said. "Just relax, will you? You're so impatient!"

Charlie reached into his pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes and his Zippo. "I just want to finish up here so we can get back to … to the reason we came to England to begin with."

Being ever the gentleman, Charlie held out the pack to Anna and Sam. "Would you care for one?"

Both women accepted and held their cigarettes so Charlie could light them.

Anna took a deep puff. "Thanks. So, what was the reason you came here to begin with?"

Charlie glanced at Don, who said, "We're here on classified government business. I'm afraid I'm not going to be able to tell you anything else."

"Not even where you've been stationed?"

"Nope. Not even that."

"How about how long you've been in England? You can at least tell me that, can't you?" Anna asked with a sigh. The reporter in her was shut down. "Were you here for May Day?"

"Uh, yes, we were," Don said. "But we were working." He puffed on his cigar and gave Anna a grin. "Okay, we've been in England since March."

"We missed the festivities this year," Larry said, "but Charlie and I both studied over here and were able to participate in previous May Day festivities."

"It's fun to watch the Brits let their hair down, isn't it?" Anna said with a laugh. "Most of the time they're pretty straight laced."

Sam's brow furrowed. "I believe we're capable of cutting loose when the situation calls for it. Unfortunately, it's been a few years since the situation really called for it."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings, Sam. Maybe when this damned war is over, I can come back and see you guys really celebrate."

"Good," Sam said. "I'd love to have you back to see us under better circumstances. We're a little worn around the edges now, I'm afraid."

"So," Anna said, "Larry, what kind of flowers are we looking at here?"

"Well, these are rhododendrons. There are tulips and daffodils. Milton wrote a poem about May with its primroses and cowslips. I've found primroses, but I'm not sure what a cowslip looks like."

"Oh my," Charlie scoffed, "don't tell me our Renaissance man has been stumped."

"I never claimed to know everything, Charles. I am simply making an attempt to be well-rounded."

"Well," Charlie laughed, "a few more breakfasts like we just ate and we'll all be well-rounded."

The morning sun reached the garden and started to warm the visitors. Charlie took off his suit coat and draped it over his forearm. "If I'd known we'd been in England this long, I would have brought a summer weight suit."

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about that," Sam laughed. "By this evening, it could very well be cold and damp again. You'll be glad you brought your tweeds. So, Anna, how long have you been here? And what brought you to Hastings?"

"Sharon and I came here in January. We chose Hastings because Sharon has relatives here. Her maternal grandparents are here. Her mom married an American and went home with him, but she said her mom's sister stayed here and married. So she probably has cousins here too."

"Really?" Sam asked. "Who are they? I might know them."

"The grandparents are Sir Walter St. James and his wife. I think her name is Charlotte. Sharon contacted them, but they refused to see us. So that left us on our own here at the White Feather."

"I've heard of Sir Walter," Sam said. "He was a hero in the last war, I believe. I've seen his wife around town, but that's about it. Why wouldn't they see you?"

Anna shrugged. "I don't think old Sir Walter was thrilled that his daughter married an American Jew. Sharon hoped they'd let bygones be bygones, but I guess the St. James clan can hold a grudge."

"Well, that's too bad," Sam shook her head. "It's a shame, if you ask me. Life's too short to hold onto a grudge. Though the old guard do hold on to their loyalty to the Church of England. I should know. My father and uncle are vicars. They're both very concerned about my soul. When I stepped out with an American boy for a while they were worried that I might marry outside of the church."

Don and Charlie exchanged glances. "I'm sorry to hear that," Don said.

"Oh, I don't worry about what they think. I'm afraid I'm beyond help at this point."

"Well," Anna said, "you are a grown woman, and fully capable of making your own decisions. If I were you, I'd tell them – what's the phrase? – 'bugger off?'"

Sam blushed. "I may think that, but I'd never say it out loud."

"I think it's about time you learn to say what you think and the hell with propriety," Anna said, grinning. "If this war has done anything, it's shown that women can handle any job a man can do. And probably do it better. It's time we step forward and take our place alongside the men, not under their heel."

"She does have a good point," Larry said. "In many cultures, women have taken roles outside of what we might consider proper. It is not a biological imperative for them to take the lesser role."

Anna gave Larry a playful punch on the arm. "I'm beginning to like you, Larry. Now if you could just drive some sense into Charlie's skull … ."

Charlie rolled his eyes. "I think I have enough sense, thank you very much." He pulled his pocket watch from his vest pocket. "I think it's time we got to work."

"I don't suppose I could come along with you and see what you're doing?" Anna asked. "Like I said at breakfast, it is getting a little boring waiting around here for something to happen. I am a reporter, after all. I'm not used to sitting on the sidelines."

"Well," Don said, "I'm afraid you're going to have to sit a little longer. You know what we're doing is classified."

"I know. It was worth a shot, though."

After they had bid their farewells to Anna, Don, Larry and Charlie followed Sam to the car. "Where to?" Sam asked pertly as she climbed into the driver's seat.

"Why don't we drop these two off at the school house?" Don said. "Then if you think he'd be willing to put up with me, I thought I could hang around with DCS Foyle today."

"Well," Sam said, "it won't hurt to ask him."

At the school, Don unlocked the door and accompanied the professors into their classroom. Then he handed Charlie the key. "Here. You might as well hang onto this. Lock the door behind us, and if you leave the building for any reason, don't forget to lock the door behind you."

Charlie saluted. "Yessir." He glanced at the blackboards, anxious to return to his work, but followed Don back to the front door. "You two going to the movie tonight?"

Don looked hopefully at Sam. "Sam?"

"Definitely! I've not been to the cinema in such a long time."

Don grinned. "Well, Charlie, it looks like we will be going to the movie … er … the cinema tonight. Why?"

"I was just wondering when to expect you back. Now that I know you'll be occupied this evening, we won't expect to see you until tomorrow morning."

Sam's eyes widened. "Oh, I believe you'll see him tonight some time."

Charlie covered his mouth with his hand. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to imply anything. All right. I'll see you later tonight." He waved as Sam and Don trotted down the steps, then closed and locked the door. Turning to Larry, rubbing his hands, he said, "Well, let's get to it."

Once they were back in the classroom, Charlie took out a sheaf of graph paper. "All right. Why don't you start with the keyword DITSEF and I'll start with HITSEF? This way we can save time."

"Excellent idea," Larry said, reaching for a few sheets of paper. They sat, deep in concentration, deciphering their respective lists and smoking quietly. Finally Charlie sighed and took one last look at his list. He glanced up at Larry, who was still working. A few moments later, Larry looked quizzically at what he had written. "Well, it's clearly not DITSEF." He handed Charlie his list:

pilbbq xwielm vrioeo embxrx iyfbre xjugek suakef stadet irhhsf egebfb sssbbx ioneyw mllaed esaeae xrelod xshxwu plbxkz swntse icogde ybaetq vneeil ebemhi mndlod oesmrq pwielb vovbdq enymhu rgyhuz iedvoz xacmmq esshoz esyhut evetco smpeie ledrog vmilsu snnxxf hroiwu plbxiz xhephu xefxaf ler

"Not HITSEF either," Charlie said with a sigh, passing his list to Larry:

lilbbq twielm rrioeo ambxrx eyfbre tjugek ouakef otadet erhhsf agebfb ossbbx eoneyw illaed asaeae trelod tshxwu llbxkz owntse ecogde ubaetq rneeil abemhi indlod kesmrq lwielb rovbdq anymhu nghyuz eedvoz tacmmq asshoz asyhut avetco ompeie hedrog rmilsu onnxxf droiwu llbxiz thephu tefxaf her

They sat side by side, studying the two lists for a few minutes, then Larry said, "I don't think 'd' is the first letter. Look at all these x's I got with it." He circled the seven x's that showed up for the first letter in the six letter groupings. "I'm afraid you were right." He picked up his list and began to wad it up.

"Wait," Charlie took the paper from him. "Look at all the x's we both got in the fourth spot. I don't think 's' is the right fourth letter in the keyword."

Larry pulled out the bar graphs. "Okay, let's accept that the first letter is 'h' – for now anyway. And let's have another look at the fourth letter. Let's see if we can come up with something that makes more sense than 's.'"

Author's Note: In case you're interested I've posted the remaining bar graphs at the "other" site: wwq dot fanrush dot ?t=21020


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

"It must be fun working with your brother," Sam said as they drove to the police station.

"Yeah, it kind of is. We didn't always get along this well."

"Why? Just normal brother animosity?"

Don snorted. "It was a little bit more than that. He's a genius. I mean, a real genuine certified genius. He's five years younger than I am, and believe it or not, we graduated high school together."

"Really? Why? You weren't held back, were you? You seem too intelligent for that."

"Thanks. No, I was not held back. Actually, he was so smart they kept moving him up."

"Oh my. That must have been awful, having your little brother in class with you."

"Yeah, it was. The kids all gave me a hard time about it, so I, of course, had to turn around and make Charlie's life miserable."

Sam nodded. "Sounds perfectly fair to me."

"Do you have any brothers or sisters?"

"No. I think my parents gave up after I arrived."

"Sometimes I wish my parents had had the same idea."

"Oh, you don't really believe that, do you?"

"No. Not always, anyway. I'm kidding. He's a great guy. Until we started working together over here, we lived in two different worlds. He and Larry are professors at the California Institute of Science. He's one of the top mathematicians in the world." Don paused for a moment, then added quietly, "And I'm just in the army."

"Well, we each do what we are equipped for, right?"

"Right. How did you end up working for the police?"

"I kind of came in through the back door. I was a driver in the Mechanised Transport Corps. When Mr. Foyle was made DCS here, he needed a driver. So I was seconded to the Hastings Police and was assigned as his driver. I was really looking forward to being involved in solving cases, but Mr. Foyle made it clear that I was to drive and nothing else. He refused at first to even discuss cases with me. But I think now I've proven to him that I can be helpful. He's actually let me do some undercover work for him."

Don grinned. "That must have been exciting."

"Oh, it was. I was very nearly killed on one case."

"And that didn't change your mind about helping?"

"Oh, no. Of course, my father would have been horribly upset if I'd told him. When I first started working for Mr. Foyle, my father wanted me to quit. He'd heard horrible things about women in services and he was afraid my morals would be compromised."

"He's not going to be worried about you stepping out with a Jew, is he?"

Sam shrugged. "Maybe I'll just follow Anna's advice and tell him to bugger off. He would have a heart attack if I said such a thing to him. When I told him I had no intention of becoming PWP – pregnant without permission – he nearly fainted dead away."

Don laughed. "Oh, man, I believe it."

"Well, here we are. I'm certain Mr. Foyle will be happy to have you along, but if not, I can drop you back off at the school so you can help your brother."

"Thanks, but no thanks. Watching those two guys work isn't exactly my idea of a good time," Don said, chuckling. "Don't worry. I'll find _something_ to do if that happens."

Don held the door open for Sam as they walked into the police station. He removed his cap and tucked it under his arm. Using his free hand, he tried to straighten up his hair a bit.

Sgt. Brooke looked up from his desk. "Miss Stewart, Captain Eppes, Mr. Foyle was just asking about you two."

Sam and Don exchanged confused glances. "Excuse me," Don said, "but how did he know I'd be here?"

Brooke shrugged. "'Ow's 'e know anything? 'E's a detective."

"Okay," Don said, "I guess we'd better go see him."

As they walked to Foyle's office, Don leaned toward Sam and whispered, "He's not from around here, is he?"

Sam laughed. "No. Sgt. Brooke came 'ere from London. 'Ow could you tell?"

Foyle's door was open. He and Milner were seated, talking quietly. They glanced up when they approached and Foyle waved them in. "Sam, Captain Eppes, come on in. I was just asking about you."

"I know," Don said, "Sgt. Brooke just told us."

Paul Milner stood to greet the newcomers. "How was breakfast, Sam?"

"Wonderful. They truly do have the best full breakfast in Hastings. I wish you could have joined us."

"How did you know I was coming?" Don said, taking the seat Foyle indicated.

"Well, let's just say I assumed you were more interested in this aspect of the case than you were in the codebreaking."

"Good assumption," Don said with a grin. "I don't want to interfere…"

"Don't worry. If you start to interfere, I'll send you packing."

Don waited for Foyle to smile. When he didn't, Don nodded. "I believe it, Sir."

"Did you have an opportunity to speak with Miss Buonaroti?"

"Yes, we did," Don said, then proceeded to fill him in on the highlights of the morning's conversation.

"Hm," Foyle said, "we weren't aware of the relatives in Hastings." He picked up a folder. "I haven't had a chance to read everything your government has sent us, but I don't recall seeing that either young lady had relatives here. I do believe we should pay a visit to Sir Walter and the newspaper photographer – Simon Baker, I believe he's called."

"Yes, Sir," Milner said, consulting his notes. "Simon Baker."

"All right, then," Foyle stood and walked to the coat rack in the corner and picked up his coat and hat. "Shall we begin?"

Half an hour later, they reached the country home of Sir Walter St. James. When he caught sight of the imposing brick façade surrounded by formal gardens and statuary, Don whistled. "Nice digs," he murmured.

Milner stifled a grin. "Have you had any dealings with British aristocracy, Captain?"

"Nope."

"Then this should be an interesting experience for you. It's rather like dealing with a commanding officer who should have retired years ago."

"Milner," Foyle said in a warning tone.

"Sorry, Sir. I was just trying to prepare Captain Eppes for Sir Walter the best way I know how."

"Oh," Foyle said, "I think he'll catch on quickly enough."

Sam pulled the Wolseley into the circle drive in front of the house and turned off the engine. "Would you like me to come along, Sir?"

"That won't be necessary," Foyle said, opening the car door.

He led the way to the front door with Don and Milner following close behind. "Captain Eppes, …"

"Please call me Don, Sir."

"All right, Don. I'd appreciate if you'd let me do the talking."

"Yes, Sir. I will."

"And you might as well call me Christopher if I'm going to be calling you Don."

Don grinned. "Okay, Christopher."

"You don't happen to like fishing, do you?"

"No. Afraid not. I'm more of a golfer."

Foyle smiled. "Did you bring your clubs?"

"Unfortunately, no."

"That's fine. I'll lend you my son's clubs. He's off someplace he's not allowed to tell me about. Rather like you and your father, I imagine."

They reached the imposing front doors, and Foyle rang the bell. They could hear the chimes echoing inside, and then heard the sound of the door being unlocked. A tall, slim, ramrod straight elderly man wearing riding clothes stood before them. "Yes?"

"Sir Walter," Foyle said, "My name's Foyle; I'm a police officer."

"Police? I didn't call the police." He stepped back from the door and turned away. "Charlotte?" he bellowed. "Did you call the police?"

"Nobody called us, Sir Walter. I'm afraid I have some bad news for you."

Sir Walter sized up Foyle briefly, then stepped aside. "I suppose you'd better come in then. Charlotte! Come join us in the parlor!"

"I'm coming!" A plump, elderly lady, also dressed in riding clothes bustled into the foyer. "You don't have to shout."

"You have been getting hard of hearing lately, my dear."

"Not hard of hearing," Lady St. James said, "perhaps I'm just choosing to ignore you, Dear."

"These policemen say they're here with bad news. Let's take them into the parlor."

"Would you care for tea?" Lady St. James said as she led the way into the parlor.

"No, thank you," Foyle said, as he, Milner and Don removed their hats.

Once they were settled in the spacious parlor, Sir Walter said, "Now what is this bad news you have for us, young man?"

"I'm afraid your granddaughter has been murdered."

"Our little Susie?" Lady St. James gasped. "But she's not in town that I know of."

"No," Foyle said, "A Miss Sharon Levine. I understand she is your granddaughter."

Sir Walter scowled. "We told her we had no desire to see her and she should go back to America and that Jewish family of hers."

Don flushed and clamped his lips tightly.

"So you did speak with her," Foyle said.

"Yes. She had the temerity to telephone us and ask to visit. I told her in no uncertain terms that we did not desire to see her or speak with her and she was never to contact us again."

Lady St. James put a hand on her husband's arm. "We had two daughters, Mr. …."

"Foyle, Ma'am."

"Mr. Foyle, you would never meet two people as utterly different from each other as our Penelope and Gertrude. Gertrude was the model daughter. Married well, gave us lovely grandchildren. Penelope, on the other hand, met an American Jew, if you can imagine that, and ran off with him."

"The girl had no more sense than my hounds," Sir Walter growled. "When she had the audacity to bring this … this Jew around to meet us, I told her it was him or us and slammed the door in her face. And now her daughter has come back here and gotten herself murdered. I knew no good would come of such a marriage."

If Foyle was disturbed, he did not let on. He nodded gravely. "I don't suppose then you have any information that might aid in our investigations."

"No," Sir Walter stood. "If that's all…."

The three men stood. "I believe that's all for now," Foyle said, giving Don a warning glance. "We'll be in touch if we need anything further. Thank you for you time."

As they walked back to the car, Foyle said, "I'm afraid anti-Semitism is still alive and well in Hastings."

"Not just in Hastings," Don said softly. "It's everywhere. You think Sir Walter had anything to do with Sharon's murder?"

"It's early days yet," Foyle said. "Milner, you might want to check into the local Mosleyites and see what you can uncover." He glanced at Don. "We had a case a few years ago involving a local group of anti-war anti-Semites."

Don nodded. "Milner told us about the Friday Club and the murder at the White Feather."

"The Friday Club hasn't met as openly as they used to, but I'm certain they still have members here. We'll ferret them out and see if they're involved in Miss Levine's murder."

Sam was leaning against the car, watching a flock of bird splashing in the shallow end of a garden pond. She jumped when she heard Foyle's voice. "All set, Sir?" she asked as she opened the door. "Where to now?"

"Back to the High Street. The Observer office."

"All right." Once they were settled in the car, she glanced back at Don. "So, how was your first encounter with the aristocracy?"

"Memorable," Don said quietly.

Sam's brow furrowed as she drove. "Memorable good or memorable bad?"

"Let's just say it was an experience I won't soon forget and drop it, okay?" Don closed his eyes and rested his head against the window.


	13. Chapter 13

Sam pulled up to the curb in front of a small office building on the High Street in Hastings Old Town. The sign, designed to look historical, proclaimed this to be the home of The Hastings Observer, Founded in 1874. A bell jingled as Foyle opened the front door, summoning a squat man from the back. The man squinted through the haze of stale cigarette smoke. "Hello. Wot can I do for you?"

Foyle removed his hat. "My name's Foyle. I'm with the police. I'm here to see a Mr. Simon Baker."

"Wot's he done now?" the man asked.

"We don't know that he's done anything. We would just like to speak with him. Is he here?"

"Yeah. He's in the back." The man opened the door at the back of his office. "Simon! There's a policeman here to see you!"

Foyle and Milner exchanged glances, and Milner left by the front door, signaling for Don to accompany him.

A few moments later, Milner and Don returned. Don was leading a bedraggled young man by the arm. "Mr. Baker seems to have lost his way," Milner said with a wry smile, "But Captain Eppes was able to help him."

"It's good you were there to show him the right way," Foyle said. Turning to the squat little man, he said, "Uh, I'm afraid I didn't catch your name."

"That's 'cause I didn't throw it. I'm Oliver Frampton. I'm the editor in chief of the Observer."

"Well, Mr. Frampton, do you have somewhere we can speak in private to Mr. Baker, or should we take him to our headquarters?"

"You can take him into my office," Frampton growled. "It's back here." He led the way through the door at the back of the room.

The office was crowded wall to wall with boxes, file cabinets and cabinet. The haze of cigarette smoke was even thicker here than in the outer room. "I'm afraid there isn't much room in here. I'll be out front if you need me."

Foyle glanced around and walked into the office. He leaned against the edge of the desk, facing Simon Baker. Don and Milner crowded in behind Baker, and Milner closed the door. "All right, Mr. Baker, I'm Foyle. I'm with the police. We are investigating the murder of Miss Sharon Levine. I'm given to understand that you allowed Miss Levine to make use of your dark room."

"Yeah, that's right. Kind of professional courtesy if you will."

"Were you with her when she developed her photographs?"

Baker shrugged. "The first couple times, yeah. But it was pretty boring stuff, so I didn't always stick around."

"What was in the photographs?"

The first few were from London. Sightseeing stuff. Underground stations, trains. Some of the churches, Buckingham Palace. There was another lady in most of 'em. She had curly black hair. Looked Italian. Sharon said that was her friend. They were traveling together. I told her she should have been in some of the pictures. Otherwise nobody would believe she was here. She kind of laughed and said people would know once they published their article."

"Did she say what the article was about?"

Baker shrugged. "Nah."

"That's interesting," Foyle said. "You'd think being involved in news like you are, you'd be curious."

"I was curious, but she said it was their scoop and she appreciated the use of the darkroom and all but she wasn't going to let another newspaper in on it."

"Strange reaction if she was writing a travelogue of Great Britain, don't you think?"

"I do. But I didn't see anything special about the pictures, like I said."

"How many times did she come in to use your darkroom?"

"Let's see. She first came in mid-January, I think it was. Then maybe once a week since then."

"When did she come here last?"

"Four days ago. Just a day before they found her body, I think."

"What was she like then?"

"She seemed more excited than usual, but from what I could see the photographs weren't anything special."

"How many photographs would you say she developed here?"

"A couple hundred, all told."

"A lot of photographs," Foyle said quietly.

"Yeah. I told her Mr. Frampton would be on me about the materials she was using, but she went to see him and arranged to pay."

Foyle stood. "I'd like to see the darkroom."

"Sure. I'm not using it right now. We've had to cut back and only publish once a week because of the bloody rationing." Frampton turned to face the door and eyed Don. Turning back to Foyle, he said, "Tell your thug here I won't try to run."

Foyle smiled. "He's not my thug. Captain Eppes is here representing the interests of the American government in the investigation of Miss Levine's death."

"Interesting," Baker said. "You think I could accompany you on your investigations? This could be a big story for us. Maybe we can even print two editions this week."

Foyle glanced at Don, then turned back to Baker. "I don't think that would be a good idea, Mr. Baker. This is a very sensitive situation, you know, involving two governments as it does. But I suppose we could give you exclusive interviews after the fact. If you cooperate with us, that is."

Baker grinned. "Anything for a scoop. Isn't that what they say? Come on. I'll take you to the darkroom."

Baker led the way further down the hall to the back of the building. Frampton returned from the main office. "Baker," he called, "where are you taking these men?"

"They want to see the darkroom where Miss Levine did her work. I suppose they're looking for clues."

"Well, she wasn't murdered here. She was killed in that bombed out pub, wasn't she?"

Foyle turned to face Frampton. "I'm afraid we're not sure where she was murdered, Mr. Frampton. Now, if you'll excuse us …"

"I'm coming with you," Frampton said.

Baker stopped in front of a door. "Here's the darkroom, Mr. Foyle. It's rather small. Just made for one or two people, you know." He opened the door and reached inside to turn on a light.

"Why don't you come in with me and tell me what I'm looking at." Foyle and Baker stepped into the room while Frampton tried to crowd past Milner in the doorway. Milner stopped him with a scowl. Foyle glanced around the room. "Did Miss Levine leave any of her photographs here?"

"No. She took them all with her. She did toss a few bad prints and ruined negatives in the trash."

"Where would that be?"

"I haven't emptied the bin in over a week. Like I said, there hasn't been much work done here lately." He pulled out a large wastebasket. "Here, you're welcome to go through this if you'd like. Though you might come across the remains of a lunch or two."

Foyle grimaced and handed the wastebasket out to Milner. "Have a look, will you, Milner? See if you can find any of Miss Levine's work."

Milner took the wastebasket gingerly, glancing into it. "Yes, Sir."

"Larry," Charlie said, dropping the handful of papers on the desk, "How many letters have we tried? I've lost count."

"You? The numbers man losing count? It must be serious." Larry glanced at his pocket watch. "Why don't we take a break for lunch? There's a quaint little pub, the Duck and Swan, across the street. It's a little after noon. They should be open."

Charlie glanced at the blackboard and finally nodded. "I think I need a break." His stomach growled, as if on cue, and he grinned. "I guess that's not all I need."

"Don't forget to lock up," Larry said. "Don would kill you. Not literally, of course, but he would take it very seriously."

"I know what you meant." Charlie pulled the key from his pocket. "Let's go. I wonder if they have takeaway."

"Forget takeaway. I don't know about you, but I need a pint and some time away to clear my mind."

"All right."

The Duck and Swan was busy but not crowded. "Must be the nice weather," Charlie said as he held the door for Larry. "Everybody snuck out a little early for lunch. You want to sit inside or out?"

Larry shivered. "It may be nice weather for the natives, but my southern California blood is a little too thin to eat outside. Let's sit inside."

One of the locals, a young man in mechanic's overalls, slipped past Larry through the open door. "Thanks, Mate!"

"You're welcome," Charlie called, then muttered under his breath, "I think." He turned to Larry. "I thought Yanks were supposed to be the rude ones."

The young man limped to the bar. "How do, Delores. Bit busy today, i'n't it?"

"Hello to you, Danny. Must be the nice weather. Everyone sneakin' outta work a tad bit early to have their lunches. You like the usual?"

"Yeah. And bring Mick's too. He'll be here in a few. His Lordship's man brought the Rolls Royce in and Mick's givin' it a look."

Delores poured two pints and handed them to Danny. I'll have your lunches over to you in a bit. As Danny took the pints and headed toward a table, Delores turned to Charlie and Larry. "What can I get for you gentlemen?"

"A couple of pints and ploughman's lunches, please," Charlie said.

Delores retrieved two glasses and began filling them. "I take it you're not from around here. And you don't look like you're in the army."

Charlie grinned. "We're not. We're from the States. Just here for a few days."

Delores handed Charlie the first glass. "It's a bit early for a vacation at the shore."

"True. But the way it looks out there today, summer's not too far behind."

"You got that right," she poured a second glass and handed it to Larry. "Find yourselves a table if you can. I'll bring your lunches when they're ready."

"Thank you," Larry said. They surveyed the crowded room for a moment, then Larry pointed. "Over there. By the window. There's a table."

"Great," Charlie said, heading toward the table. "That way we can see if Don comes back looking for us," Charlie explained.

"There's only one chair," Larry said as they approached the table.

"That's okay," Charlie said. Danny sat alone at a table with three chairs. Charlie rested his hand on one of the unoccupied chairs. "Mind if we borrow this?"

Danny glanced up. "Go ahead. We'll only need two. Mick is big, but he ain't big enough to need two chairs." Danny slid his chair over a little, then grimaced and rubbed his knee.

Charlie nodded at the knee. "I couldn't help but notice your limp. Were you injured in the war?"

"Wot? Me knee? Nah. I hurt it playing football back in school. When I went to join the Royal Navy, they said it was too far gone. Wot do they know anyway? I'm walkin' on it just fine. Just a little bit of a limp now and then when the weather changes."

"I'm sorry to hear that. Thanks for the chair!" Charlie said, picking up the chair.

A moment later, Delores arrived with a tray full of four ploughman's lunches. She placed two at Danny's table and placed the others in front of Charlie and Larry. "Here you go, Loves. Name's Delores. Give me a shout it you need anything else."

"Thank you, Delores. It looks wonderful," Larry said. They ate in companionable silence for a while, enjoying the pickle, bread and cheese. "The beer's not bad," Larry said, licking foam from his lips. "I think I'm getting used to drinking it warm."

"Me too. Beer is beer, warm or cold," Charlie said, hoisting his glass in a toast. After they had clinked glasses, they went back to eating.

A few minutes later, a large muscular man walked up to Danny's table. He wiped his hands on his overalls. "You start without me, Danny?" he said, settling into the vacant chair.

"Yeah. But since I can't let you drink alone, I'll just have to get a second pint when this one's finished."

After he finished the last bit of pickle, Charlie pushed his chair back and ended up bumping into Danny's companion's chair.

The man turned and scowled at Charlie. "Watch what you're doing," he said tersely.

"I'm terribly sorry," Charlie apologized.

The man continued to scowl. "You should be."

"Mick," Danny said, "the man said he was sorry. Just leave it, would you? He didn't mean anything."

Mick gave Charlie one last glare then turned away. "Damn kike," Mick muttered under his breath.

Charlie moved his chair as far away from Mick as he could, then brought his beer to his lips. Larry seemed unaffected by the exchange. Charlie figured he must not have heard Mick's last comment. In an effort to wipe that unpleasantness from his mind, Charlie turned his thoughts to the work they had left across the street.

A few moments later, Larry looked up from his plate. "What?" Larry said. "I know that look. What are you pondering, Charles?"

"It seems reasonable that if letter four isn't 's' it could be 'l,' but letter six has me stumped."

"I agree," Larry said. "With what we have so far, there are no words jumping out at me. It's altogether possible that the letters we think are right may not be. These codes are made to foil people who don't have the keyword. In fact, the keyword might not be a word at all. It could just be a random collection of letters known to both parties."

Charlie rubbed his face. "And we're supposed to be good at this. Don's expecting us to solve it like that," he snapped his fingers.

"We will solve it, I'm sure. In all humility, we are among the best at this."

"But our success rate is well below 100%."

"Don't worry about it. Just drink your beer and relax." Larry glanced at the buildings across the street. "This is a pretty little town, isn't it? Especially here in the old town. I find it amazing that there are buildings in England that are a thousand years old. And back home, we consider a building ancient if it's two hundred years old."

"This pub is from the 1400's, isn't it? And that newspaper office we passed on the High Street was from the 1800's. And that's relatively new stuff. Like New College at Oxford University. That was founded in, what, the 1300's? Where else would something that old be called new?" Charlie finished his beer. "You ready to get going?"

Larry held up his glass. It was still a quarter full. "Not quite." He sighed. "Do you think we need to get someone else to help us with this job?"

"I don't think so. I think it's just a matter of trying more letter combinations until we something that makes sense."

Larry nodded dreamily. "Some day we'll invent a machine to do these computations for us. Perhaps even in our lifetimes. They'll be able to do the work of ten mathematicians."

"Hey, I don't want these computing machines to put me out of a job."

"But they won't. That's the beauty of it. These machines will do the drudge work for you. They'll test the combinations until something works. You'll be free to pursue more theories if you don't have to do the simple calculations."

Charlie grinned. "I hope you're right, Larry. Come on, finish that beer. We don't have that machine yet. We've got to do the work ourselves."

Danny watched through the window as the Americans crossed the street. He chuckled as the light haired one looked left and almost stepped into the path of a lorry. "Damned Yanks," he muttered.

Mick snarled, "Serves 'em right if they all get themselves run over." He turned and started at Danny. "Why didn't you let me give that bloody kike what he had comin'?"

"Listen. I don't like 'em being here any better than you do. But they're here and Churchill says we gotta treat 'em like guests. The war'll be over soon enough and they'll all go back where they belong."

"I guess ye're right," Mick agreed. He glanced at the clock above the bar. "Come on. We've got to get back to work."


	14. Chapter 14

"You need a hand with that?" Don asked as he watched Milner staring with disgust at the waste bin.

"Are you volunteering or just curious?" Milner took off his suit coat and looked in vain for a place to hang it.

"Volunteering. You'd think I'd have learned my lesson about volunteering," he smiled. "Here. You hold it, I'll rummage through and see what I can find." Don began gingerly pulling out crumpled and ripped photographs and negatives, avoiding the remnants of Baker's meals. A few minutes later, he said, "I think that's about it." Turning to Baker, he said, "Mr. Baker? Do you have an envelope I could put these in?"

"Sure." Baker shuffled through the papers on his desk and handed Don a large envelope. "That should do you. Mind if I see what you've got there? Most of that's mine, you know."

Don shoved all of the prints and negatives into the envelope. "What kind of camera do you use?"

"Graflex. Why?"

"You use four inch by five inch?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"What kind of film did Miss Levine have?"

"Some thirty-five millimeter rolls, and some two and a quarter by three and a quarter sheets."

Don pulled out the largest negatives and handed them to Baker. "There. The rest of them, I assume, were Miss Levine's."

"I suppose so. What about the prints?"

Foyle said, "We'll be able to return any we don't need as evidence. But they were in your trash, weren't they? I presume you won't be needing them."

"No, I guess I you're right. Is there anything else you gents need?"

"Could I have a look in your darkroom?" Don asked.

"Why?" Baker asked. "There's not much to see here."

Don shrugged. "I'm just curious. I had a little training in photography. I'd just like to see your setup."

"Sure, Mate," Baker said with a grin. "Welcome to my humble abode. It's a bit messy right now," he added, picking up a camera from the counter and opening a drawer. "Let me just get this … ."

Don looked closely at the camera, noticing a flash of color on the otherwise black exterior. He took a step forward and reached for the camera. "That's not the four by five Graflex, is it? It looks smaller."

Baker took a step away and shoved the camera into the drawer. "Nah. It's an older model I found. It doesn't work, but I was hoping to use it for parts. Here," he lifted a larger camera, "this is my baby. It's the Anniversary Speed Graphic. Actually," he said with a glance at Frampton, "it's the paper's baby. I couldn't afford such a thing on what they pay me here."

Don whistled as he gently took the camera from Baker's hands. "It's a beauty." He peered through the view finder. "I'm lucky to be able to afford a Kodak Brownie. Here," He handed the camera back. "Very nice."

"Maybe if you have a chance some time, you can come along with me and try it."

"I'd like that."

"Just stop by when you're free, or give me a ring."

"Thanks! I'll do that." Don turned to Foyle and Milner. "Are we all set here?"

"I believe so," Foyle said. "Mr. Frampton, Mr. Baker, thank you for your help. We'll be in touch if we need anything else from you." He turned to leave the office.

"Captain Eppes, is it?" Frampton called.

"Yes?" Don said, turning around.

"Miss Levine still owed me money for the use of my facilities."

"I'm sorry, but you'll have to work that out with her estate, Mr. Frampton," Don said. "Good day," he turned and followed Foyle.

Sam was across the street, supervising a group of boys who were trying to load discarded newspapers onto a wagon. One of the boys tugged at her arm. "Miss Stewart, there's your boss."

"Ooh, thank you, Tommy. I've got to run now. Good luck with your work."

"Thank you, mum," Tommy said. "We're just trying to do our bit, you know."

"I know," Sam ruffled Tommy's hair. "And it has nothing to do with the contest at school, does it?"

"Maybe just a bit," Tommy admitted.

Sam chuckled as she crossed the street. "Sorry, Sir. I got caught up in the war effort." Once everyone was settled in the car, Sam said, "Where to now?"

"Back to the office," Foyle said. Turning to look at Don in the back seat, he said, "We should have the autopsy results by now. And perhaps we can see how your brother and Dr. Fleinhardt are doing on the code."

"And perhaps stop for a bite of lunch," Sam suggested hopefully.

Don glanced at his watch. "That sounds like a good idea. How about I treat?"

"You don't need to do that, Don," Foyle said.

"I want to. Payback for letting me tag along with you on this case."

Foyle caught Sam's hopeful expression and smiled. "All right. We could go to the little Italian place, Luigi's. It's just down the street from the station, and it's reasonably priced."

Sam laughed. "I was hoping we'd go someplace a little nicer. As long as Captain Eppes is paying."

Don leaned forward in his seat. "Aw, Sam. I'll take you someplace nice for dinner. Before we go to the movie. How's that?"

"It sounds wonderful. Treated to three meals in one day! Brilliant."

Sam parked at the police station and they walked down the street to Luigi's. A wizened Italian man greeted them at the door. "Christopher! Samantha! Paul! Welcome. Come! I have the best table in the house for you and your new friend."

"Paolo," Foyle said, "I'd like you to meet Captain Don Eppes. Don, meet Paolo. He's the owner of Luigi's. Don't ask him why the names are different, or we'll be here all day."

"Christopher! You wound me. I know you are busy maintaining order, and I would never presume to delay you." He led them to a table near the window and placed four menus on the table. "The involtini are excellent today. My butcher outdid himself this week. It is not often we get such wonderful beef." He grinned at Foyle. "All acquired in a perfectly legal manner, I assure you."

"Involtini?" Don asked as he held Sam's chair for her.

"I believe you Americans call it braciole. Thin slices of beef rolled around a filling of cheese and egg and bread crumbs. But if you prefer, we have wonderful home made pasta that will melt in your mouth."

"He is not exaggerating," Foyle said. "The pasta is very good."

Paolo bowed. "Thank you, Christopher. I will give you a few moments. What can I bring you to drink?"

After giving Paolo their drink orders, they perused the menu and eventually all agreed to try the involtini. Sam closed her menu and set it on the table. "It's not often you get decent beef these days."

Foyle signaled to Paolo and they placed their orders. While they were waiting, Foyle said, "When we've finished here, we can go over the autopsy results and the other information we've gleaned from the crime scene."

Don took a sip of his wine. "What did the autopsy show?"

"Well, as we knew, her throat was slit, but there was evidence that she was beaten before she died. Perhaps to extract information from her."

Sam grimaced as she lifted a slice of warm bread from the basket. "Do we really need to ruin a good meal with talk of slit throats and beatings?"

"Why, Sam," Milner said as he passed her the butter. "I thought you were always the one trying to get us to discuss cases with you."

"But not while I'm eating!"

"Point well taken," Foyle said. "Let's enjoy our meal and we can discuss the details when we get back to the office."

When they had finished and Don had paid, they walked back to the station, enjoying the pleasant spring weather.

Sergeant Brooke looked up from his desk as they entered. "Mr. Foyle, you've had several calls from Chief Superintendent Reid. I've left messages on your desk, Sir."

"Thank you, Sergeant," Foyle said with a sigh.

"He probably wants to know if we've solved the case yet," Milner said as he and Don placed their hats on the coat rack in the corridor.

"I'm sure he does," Foyle said, leading the way to his office. "And he has every right to ask. I'll call him back when we've finished here." He turned and noticed Sam standing beside Don. "Sam, I don't think we'll need your help right now. Don't worry. We'll be finished in plenty of time for your big date tonight." He took off his hat and hung it on the coat rack on the way to his desk. "Close the door, please," he said to Milner as he sat.

After Don and Milner had pulled up chairs in front of Foyle's desk, Foyle pulled out a folder. "Here are the results of the autopsy." Glancing at Don, he said, "I'm afraid the photos are not at all pleasant."

Don opened the folder. "I've seen worse." His expression softened as he flipped through the photographs. "Poor kid," he whispered. Taking a deep breath, he looked up at Foyle. "You said something about a pre-mortem beating?"

"Right. She had bruises on her face and torso, two broken ribs, and defensive wounds on her hands. She put up a fight."

"But it wasn't enough," Milner said. "Did the ME have any idea of the time of death?"

"It appears she was killed within a few hours of the last time Miss Buonaroti saw her."

Milner nodded. "I spoke with several witnesses who saw her with her camera bag and tripod that afternoon."

"Have you put together a time line?"

"I believe so, Sir. Though the witnesses were not sure exactly when they saw her. She left the White Feather around one in the afternoon. She was seen bicycling to the newspaper office."

"That makes sense," Don said. "Baker said she was there that afternoon."

"Right." Milner continued, "She was seen leaving the newspaper office sometime around tea time, heading toward the waterfront. Someone down by the waterfront saw a woman matching her description going to the castle ruins. There she was seen talking with a man. I've got a description of the man, but haven't had any luck finding out more about him. That's the last anybody we spoke with had seen her alive."

"All right. You keep on that. See if you can find anything more about that afternoon. And you might want to check on the two missing cameras as well. They may have turned up somewhere. They were valuable, I assume, so it's possible someone may have tried to sell them."

"Do you have the rest of her equipment here?" Don asked.

"We do." Milner rose and brought over a box. "Here's everything we found on her. We left the rest of her belongings with Miss Buonaroti in their room."

Don lifted the camera bag and looked inside. He ran his fingers around the inside and outside of the bag, then set it back in the box. The tripod caught his attention, and he lifted it from the box. "Red tape?" he murmured.

"Yes," Foyle said, "Miss Buonaroti said Miss Levine used red tape to make her tripod easier to identify. Why?"

"That camera that Simon Baker shoved into the drawer. I saw a bit of red on it as he put it away."

Foyle nodded. "Interesting. Shall we have another talk with Mr. Baker?"

Frampton looked up when the front door open. "Gentlemen! Did you forget something?"

"We'd like to have another word with Mr. Baker," Foyle said. "Is he available?"

"No. I'm afraid he's left for the day. He said he needed to take his mum somewhere. Shall I tell him you were inquiring after him?"

"Please do. But meanwhile, could we have another look in the darkroom?"

"Of course," Frampton rose and led the way to the darkroom. He pulled the door open. "There ye go."

Don walked into the room and pulled the drawer open. "It's gone."

"What?" Frampton asked.

"The smaller Graflex camera he put in here when we were here earlier. Did he have it with him?"

"How would I know?" Frampton said. "He had his camera bag, but I didn't search it on the way out."

Don checked the other drawers and cabinets. "He must have taken it."

"Mr. Frampton," Foyle said, "we'll need Mr. Baker's address."

An elderly woman opened the door a crack. "What yer want?"

"We'd like to speak with Simon Baker," Foyle said, showing his warrant card.

"He's not here right now. He was supposed to pick me up half an hour ago, and he never showed up." She slammed and locked the door.

------------------------------------------------------------------

"Larry," Charlie gasped as he pulled his friend out of the way of the truck that barreled toward them. "You've got to learn to look the right way."

"I know. I know. I'm afraid my mind was elsewhere once again."

Both men looked to the right and hurried across the street. Once they arrived in front of the school, Charlie asked, "What was your mind on?"

"That unpleasant man in the pub. Why was he so angry?"

Charlie shrugged as they trotted up the steps into the school. "Some people are just angry."

"He muttered something to you. What was it?"

Charlie shook his head. "It's nothing. We've got more things to worry about in here." He unlocked the door. "Let's concentrate on what we need to do."

Larry sighed as he walked through the door and watched Charlie re-lock the door behind them. "Whatever he said seemed to have troubled you."

"It was a stupid comment from a stupid person. It's not worth wasting our time." He sat at the desk and picked up the bar graphs. "We're reasonably sure the first letter is 'h,' right?" He placed the letter one graph above the English language graph. "Wait. It could be 'w.' Look, the 'a' occurs more frequently than the 'l' in the first letter. That would make 'a' more likely to stand for 'e.'"

Larry pulled his chair over next to Charlie's and studied the two graphs. "You might be right. Do you think we should try that before we look at the fourth letter?"

"I do. Let's not erase what we have so far, though." Charlie studied the blackboards until he found enough space to write. "I'll copy what we had over there and then just erase the first letter in each group. That way we don't have to redo the whole thing and risk making a mistake."

"Who's to say we haven't made a mistake already?" Larry asked.

Charlie scowled at him. "You don't think I've checked and rechecked our work?"

Larry raised his hands. "I'm sorry. Of course you have. What was I thinking? Are you ready?"

"Ready," Charlie stood with chalk poised.

Once they had copied the partially decoded message, Charlie carefully erased the first letter in each group. Then he wrote the alphabet next to the message, and below that, wrote 'w,x,y,z,a,b,c…' until he had all of the letters lined up.

abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz

wxyzabcdefghijklmnopqrstuv

Larry picked up a copy of the original coded message and read the first letter in the first group, "'S'."

Charlie found 's' on the lower list, and found 'w' above it. He wrote 'w' in the first space of the first group. It went slowly, but finally, Larry read the last letter, 'o' which Charlie replaced with 's.'

wilbbq Ewielm Crioeo Lmbxrx Pyfbre Tjugek Zuakef Ztadet Prhhsf Lgebfb Zssbbx Poneyw Tllaed Lsaeae Erelod Eshxwu Wlbxkz Zwntse Pcogde Fbaetq Cneeil Lbemhi Tndlod Vesmrq Wwielb Covbdq Lnymhu Yghyuz Pedvoz Eacmmq Lsshoz Lsyhut Lvetco Zmpeie Sedrog Cmilsu Znnxxf Oroiwu Wlbxiz Ehephu Eefxaf Ser

Charlie stepped back and looked at the partially decoded message. With a sigh, he shook his head. "Too many z's."

"I agree," Larry said.

Charlie picked up an eraser. "What a waste of time."

"No. Don't erase it yet. Keep it for future reference."

Charlie shrugged and scrawled 'witsef' above the attempt. "Just so I remember which keyword we were trying. Let's go back to 'h' as the first letter and get back to the fourth letter."

"In the pub, you mentioned that you thought 'l' might make more sense."

Charlie went back to the desk and picked up the charts. "After that fiasco with 'w,' I want to take a second look at that."

Larry stopped. "Did you hear that sound? Someone's at the door."

Charlie stood and headed toward the door. "I locked it, didn't I?"

"Yes, you did." Larry picked up a yardstick and followed Charlie. "I wish I had something sturdier."

As they approached the door, they heard the sound of a key rattling. Larry gripped his yardstick with both hands.

The door opened, and Don stepped into the foyer. He caught sight of Larry and raised his hands, laughing. "I surrender."

Blushing, Larry lowered the yardstick. "You can't be too sure," he mumbled.

"How's everything going?" Don asked as they walked into the classroom. He looked at the blackboards full of notes and whistled. "Looks like you've been busy."

"Busy but not terribly productive," Charlie said.

"Trial and error?" Don asked.

"I'd rather call it 'hunt and try,'" Charlie said. "Like Thomas Midgley said, we're turning a wild goose chase into a fox hunt. We're trying the most promising combinations, and if they don't work, we're going on down the line to the next most reasonable." He sat down at the desk and took out a pack of cigarettes. "How are things going on your end?"

"The autopsy report came back. We knew her throat was slit. That was the obvious injury. But it turns out she was also beaten before she was killed."

"Beaten?" Charlie lit a cigarette and offered the lighter to Don.

Don pulled out a cigar and accepted Charlie's lighter. "Thanks. Yeah. It looks like whoever killed her was trying to get information from her. Poor kid didn't know what she was getting herself into. I'll bet she just thought this was some big adventure." Don nodded at the chalk-filled blackboards. "The note was in her shoe. Professionals would have searched everywhere. They never would have missed that. But they took her cameras and her film holders." He took a puff on his cigar. "She had relatives here, believe it or not, but they wanted nothing to do with her."

"Could the relatives have wanted her dead?" Charlie asked.

"I met her grandparents. They're a real piece of work. Anti-Semitic snobs. They hated the fact that Sharon's mother married a Jew. But I can't see them wanting her dead."

Larry paused in the middle of lighting his pipe. "Unless she had something on them? Something embarrassing."

"Other than the fact that they have a Jewish granddaughter?" Charlie muttered.

"What's bugging you, Buddy?" Don asked.

"We're fighting this war against a God damned anti-Semite and yet our so-called allies are as bad as he is," Charlie rubbed his eyes.

"They're not as bad as he is, Charlie," Don said soothingly. "They say and do stupid things. They don't try to wipe out a whole race of people." He looked questioningly at Larry. "Did you guys have another run in?"

"Some guy in the pub at lunch time," Larry said. "He said something to Charlie that upset him."

Don leaned forward and grasped Charlie by the shoulders. "Buddy, remember what Mom always said?"

"Sticks and stones.' Yeah, I know, I know. I shouldn't let it get to me, but I do. Can't seem to help myself." He smiled ruefully. "Maybe it's all those years of being bullied when you weren't around to save my sorry butt."

"Well, I'm here now to protect your sorry butt." He picked up a couple of sheets of paper from the desk. "How much longer are you going to be at this today?"

Charlie pulled out his pocket watch. "Is it really that late? It's almost dinner time and it feels like we just had lunch."

"Yep. It's really that late. Sam is dropping Christopher off at home, and taking the car to the police station. I'm going back to the inn to change into something less official looking."

"That's right. You've got your hot date tonight!" Charlie grinned. "You going to eat with us before you go?"

"Nope. I promised Sam a nice dinner. She mentioned a place down by the beach. Then we're off to the movies and a drink or two after."

"Sounds great. I'm jealous," Charlie chuckled.

"Well, Charles," Larry said, puffing on his pipe, "I think Anna is interested in you."

"Anna? What do you have in your pipe, Larry?" Charlie scoffed. "She hates my guts."

"I don't know, Buddy" Don said grinning, "I think that's just an act. I think she's got the hots for you."

"Right. I can see her punching me in the eye because I held her chair for her"

"Aren't you exaggerating just a bit?" Don asked. "She spent an awful lot of time talking to you."

Charlie snorted. "Talking? You mean lecturing. You saw her after breakfast this morning. All I was trying to do was treat her the way a lady should be treated. I have enough aggravation with this code. I don't need to try to decipher a woman like her."

"Ah, but Charles, the key is not to try to decipher them. The key is just to enjoy the mystery." Larry chuckled. "Though I would draw the line at suffering assault and battery."


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

Bessie Weeks looked up from her desk as Don opened the front door. "Good evening, Captain!" she called. "Just so you know, dinner will be served in the dining room in about half an hour."

Don entered the foyer, followed by Larry and Charlie. "Thank you, Bessie." He turned to Larry and Charlie. "You guys eating here or going out?"

"I think we'll eat here, if that's okay with you, Larry," Charlie said.

"Sounds wonderful to me," Larry said. "I brought some work along with me from…" he glanced at Don, "from our other assignment. I should finish that up and send it on."

Half an hour later, Don knocked on Charlie's door. "Hey, Chuck, I'm leaving now."

Charlie opened the door and whistled. "Whoa, you're looking pretty sharp there**, **Bro! It's been a long time since I've seen you in civvies. Didn't even know you had any with you."

"Don't you remember the Boy Scout motto? 'Be prepared!'" Don brushed an invisible speck off his lapel. "So, you think Sam will approve?"

"I'm sure she will. How'd you manage to bring a suit and keep it so neat looking?"

"I picked up a few tricks of the trade in my travels." He straightened Charlie's tie. "One trick is to never wad the clothes up and shove them in a carpet bag."

"Thanks," Charlie said, laughing. "I'll try to remember that."

"You might want to straighten yourself up a bit, Buddy. You might run into Anna."

Charlie shrugged. "What difference does it make? No matter what I do, she's going to want to change it."

Don laughed. "Good luck with that. See you later. Don't wait up for me."

Charlie rolled his eyes. "You think you're going to get lucky on the first date?"

Don gave him a playful punch on the shoulder. "No. I just figured you had a lot of work to do tomorrow and you'll want to get an early start. Cheerio!" Don headed down the hallway with a cheerful wave over his shoulder.

Charlie closed the door and went back to the desk where he had been working. Like Larry, he had brought work from Bletchley along with him. When one task, like the coded message found in Sharon Levine's shoe, was frustrating him, he found relief by switching to a different task. As he got back to work on the files he had brought along, his stomach rumbled. A quick glance at his watch confirmed that it was indeed dinner time. He placed the papers back in their respective file folders and slipped the file folders into a concealed compartment at the bottom of his carpetbag. He knew that a professional would never be fooled by the ploy, but at least amateurs wouldn't walk off with his top secret documents.

Remembering Don's warning, Charlie glanced in the mirror. He straightened his tie and made a mental note to check out the shops tomorrow. He made an attempt to control his hair, making a second mental note to find a barber. He was several months overdue for a haircut. The Einstein look was acceptable among the crew at Bletchley, but he found himself wondering if it was equally acceptable to a certain young reporter.

He grabbed his suit coat, glanced around to make sure there were no smoldering cigarettes in the ashtrays, locked his door and headed toward Larry's room down the hall. "Larry?" he said as he rapped on the door.

A moment later, Larry opened the door. "Charles! What can I do for you?"

"Are you ready for dinner?"

Larry glanced regretfully at the stack of papers on his desk, then nodded. "I suppose I could take a break. Let me grab my key. Come on in while I hunt for it." He looked up at Charlie. "Do we need to dress for dinner?"

"I don't know. I just thought…"

Larry laughed. "You just thought we might run into someone worth dressing up for."

Charlie blushed. "Am I that transparent?"

"You're a young, eligible man, reasonably good looking. There's no reason you shouldn't make an effort to impress the ladies." He found his room key under his pillow and held it up triumphantly. "Voila!"

"Only reasonably good looking?" Charlie chuckled. "Come on. Put those papers away and let's get dinner."

Sam gazed out the window of her second floor room, brushing her hair and waiting. She hoped the directions she had given Don were good enough. Hastings old town was not the easiest place to navigate, and now, with the war going on, and all street signs removed to foil possible invaders, even the natives occasionally got lost. Good thing it hadn't gotten dark yet. Should she have borrowed the car and picked him up at the White Feather? She certainly didn't want to miss her chance at a date with the handsome American. He was very nice, smart and positively good looking. Sam had decided to wear her stockings tonight. Her mum had given her the stockings for Christmas two years ago, and she reserved them for special occasions. One of the girls had taught her to paint her legs with diluted gravy browning to make it look like she was wearing stockings. She never quite got the hang of drawing the seam up the backs of her legs with eyebrow pencil. No. Don Eppes deserved the real thing.

What would her parents think of her dating a Jewish American who was more than a few years older than her? They weren't anti-Semitic by any stretch of the imagination, but to have their own daughter marry outside of the Church of England was a whole different issue. Then there was the age difference. She wasn't good at guessing ages, but she guessed that Don was at least a couple of years older than her. And he was an American. What was it the Yanks said? Three strikes and you're out?

She grinned ruefully. Here she was going on a first date – maybe their only date – and she was already planning on taking him home to meet her parents. Quite a leap from dinner and a movie. There he was, just rounding the corner. He wore a navy pinstriped suit and a fedora, and she hardly recognized him out of uniform. She was glad she had decided to wear the blue dress. And the stockings. She grabbed her coat and purse and rushed down the stairs. She reached the front door just as the doorbell rang.

Don took a step back, startled as the door flew open. "Well, hello. You look lovely, Sam. What a beautiful dress," he said as he admired the view.

Sam blushed and lifted a foot slightly. "I even wore stockings."

"I noticed," Don said, looking back up at her face. "I'm sorry. Was that rude?"

"Not at all. A girl likes to be admired by a handsome man."

It was Don's turn to blush. "What's sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander, I guess. Shall we?" Don said, as he put out his arm.

The dining room was beginning to fill up, but Charlie spotted a table for three. He glanced around, and, not seeing Anna, he led the way to the table. "Just in case," he assured Larry. "She might want to sit with other Americans."

Larry chuckled. "Or at least one certain American."

Charlie rolled his eyes. "I don't understand why you and Don insist in trying to pair me up with her. Honestly, I don't believe she's at all interested in me. And I don't know if I could stand being with her. She is rather abrasive."

Larry shrugged. "We'll see." He let Charlie take the seat that faced the dining room entrance. Just in case.

They had grown accustomed to the limited menus available in wartime Britain. Restaurants and inns were exempt from most of the rationing regulations, but they were still limited by what was available. Being a coastal town, Hastings had ready access to a great array of seafood. Charlie perused the menu. "It's a good thing I like fish," he chuckled.

"It's also good that summer is beginning. There's actually some produce available. It will be nice to be back in California."

Charlie closed his menu and nodded. "The climate is a lot more amenable to growing produce year 'round, and we don't have the blockades to deal with." He smiled. "There she is." He waved slightly, hoping Anna would notice.

She did. Grinning broadly, she approached their table. "You boys have a seat for a fellow countryman?"

Larry and Charlie stood, and Charlie pulled out the chair for Anna. She opened her mouth to say something, but then smiled. "Thank you."

Behind Anna, Larry raised his eyebrows at Charlie, who smiled. "You're welcome."

"Sorry I was so crabby earlier. This whole thing has thrown me for a loop. I don't know why Sharon was killed. I don't know when the police are going to let me go back home. I don't even know if Mr. Foyle has contacted Sharon's family yet." She sighed and picked up the menu. "But that's no reason to take it out on you guys."

"It's understandable," Larry said as Anna picked up her menu. "So, Anna, whereabouts are you from?"

"New York City. Staten Island, actually."

"An excellent place for a reporter to live," Larry said with a nod. "Charles did his undergraduate work in Princeton. That's where we met, actually. I was one of his professors."

Charlie grinned. "One of the few who really understood me. I was a thirteen year old freshman. It was difficult to settle in, to say the least."

Anna's eyes widened. "Thirteen? Wow, you must be a genius."

Charlie blushed and studied his menu. "It's just the way my brain works. I see the mathematical components of things and can analyze them logically. I've been like this since I was a little kid."

Anna looked at Larry. "Really? He's not pulling my leg, is he?"

"Not at all. He was able to multiply four digit numbers in his head when he was three years old."

"I've never heard of such a thing," Anna said, shaking her head. "I would give you some numbers to test that, but I wouldn't know if you got the answer right or not."

The waitress approached their table. "Are you folks ready to order?"

Anna closed her menu. "How's the beef tonight?"

The waitress shrugged. "A little tough, unfortunately. We've got some lovely ham, though."

"I'll have the ham, thank you," Anna said.

Larry and Charlie ordered the fish, and they all ordered coffee. When the waitress had left, Anna said to Charlie, "You don't eat pork, do you?"

Charlie shrugged. "I don't keep kosher, if that's what you mean. I just happen to prefer fish."

"Sorry. I assumed you were Jewish."

"I am. Just not observant. The last time I set foot in a synagogue was for my mom's funeral." He shrugged. "You could say I'm a Passover-Hanukkah Jew."

Anna laughed. "Kind of like an Easter-Christmas Christian?"

"Exactly. I'm guessing that with a name like Buonaroti, you're Catholic."

"In name only. Baptized, first communion, confirmed. When I left home, I left the church. Mom is convinced I'm going to hell. Dad is sure I'll come to my senses sometime. Sharon, on the other hand, was really religious. She kept kosher, observed all the holy days. She was upset when we got here and she found out there were no synagogues. And she was determined to do whatever she could to stop Hitler and the Nazis. Poor kid. It's too bad she failed."

Charlie and Larry exchanged glances. Charlie took a deep breath and said, softly, "I can't tell you the details, but she may not have failed."

"What do you mean?"

"Don will kill me if I say anything else. I'm hoping we'll be able to tell you about it soon."

Anna stood. When the two men started to rise, she said angrily, "Just sit. I'm getting tired of all this cloak and dagger stuff. I'm going to sit by myself. I prefer my own company."

"Wait," Charlie grabbed her arm. "I'm sorry, but we really can't … ."

"I know," Anna said, a hint of sadness in her expression. "Why don't you call me when you can tell me something? Anything." She pulled free of Charlie's grip and walked away.

Larry watched her leave and turned to Charlie. "That could have gone better."

------------------------------------------

"Do you live near the ocean?" Sam asked as she and Don walked down White Rock Road toward the pavilion at the shore end of the Hastings Pier.

"Not really. I mean, it's a quick drive, but we can't walk there like you can here. And it's more tropical looking – palm trees, sandy beaches. None of this gravel."

"It's called shingle. It actually makes it easier for our fishing boats to launch and land. I imagine you don't have barbed wire barricades either," Sam said as they approached the first of the barricades.

Don shrugged. "We've had to take more precautions than we thought we'd need, but not quite to this extent. Believe it or not, the Japs have been attacking our west coast, mostly Oregon and Alaska. Our government even evacuated Japanese from the west coast, just like they're doing with Germans here along the southern coast. Charlie and Larry were really upset when a professor at Cal Sci was evacuated." He shook his head. "It's all hush hush, but a buddy told me they intercepted some communications between Japan and Japanese Americans, and they just want to be sure we're safe. After Pearl Harbor, they can't take chances."

"Where do they evacuate them to? And are they doing the same to Germans?" Sam asked.

"I don't know where they're sending them. And, yeah, they are doing the same to Germans and other Europeans. This war has screwed things up for everyone."

"The governments decide to wage war and the rest of us have to suffer." They paused at an intersection, waiting to cross. "There's the cinema," she pointed at a large white building across from the pavilion. "It's a theatre, but they show films there too. There's a Ritz in town, but they're showing something else."

As they crossed the street, Don got a better look at the pier. "The pier's damaged. Was it bombed?"

"No. They took out the middle bit because of fears the Nazis would use it to invade. The pavilion on the far end of it is supposed to be even nicer than the one on this end. Hopefully we'll get to see it again soon."

Don nodded. "I hope so. Of course, I'll be back in California by then, I guess." He took Sam's hand and they crossed the street.

"I suppose so," Sam said wistfully. "California," she said softly.

"Your soldier last year was from there?"

Sam nodded. "He was so anxious to have me see it. To meet his family."

"But you weren't ready," Don murmured. He squeezed her hand and smiled. "Maybe the right guy will come along some time soon."

"Maybe," Sam said, returning the squeeze as they walked up the steps to the pavilion.

The hostess seated them near the balcony, overlooking the channel and took their drink orders. Sam ordered cider, and Don ordered a beer, then they settled in to read their menus. "Seafood appears to be the specialty of the house," he chuckled.

"What I wouldn't give for a steak right now," Sam sighed.

"Miss?" Don hailed the hostess. When she returned, he said quietly, "Is there any chance the chef could find a steak for this beautiful young lady? Tell him I'm willing to pay whatever the market will bear."

The hostess smiled brightly. "Let me check. I'll be right back."

When she had left, Sam said, "Don! Mr. Foyle would not be happy if he knew you were looking for black market beef."

Don smiled slyly and took Sam's hand in both of his. "Mr. Foyle's not my date tonight. Who cares what he thinks?"

Sam reddened. "When I said I would give anything for a steak, I did not really mean 'anything.' That was just a figure of speech."

"I know. I hate to see such a lovely lady disappointed. That's all. No strings attached. Besides, they might not even have a steak. You might be stuck with flounder or squid, or some other … ."

The hostess returned, grinning broadly. "The chef just happens to have two very nice steaks in the kitchen. "

"Thank you! We'll take them," Don said.

"They are beef, aren't they?" Sam asked cautiously.

"Of course, Miss," the hostess said. "Best quality we could find." She turned back to Don. "Don't you want to know the price?"

Don waved her closer. "Whisper it in my ear. I don't want the lady to know how much I'm spending on her." He listened as the hostess whispered an amount that made him blanch. He'd have enough for the meal, the movie and a couple of drinks after. Just barely. He favored the hostess with a rather unsteady grin. "Perfect. I'd like mine rare. Sam?"

"Medium is fine for me, thank you."

Once the hostess had left, Sam leaned across the table. "I hope you have enough money for this. I do not intend to do the washing up to pay for our meals."

"Don't worry. Don't you remember? All us Yanks are rich." A movement behind Sam caught Don's attention. "Oh my gosh," he whispered.

"What?" Sam turned around to see what he had seen. "That's Sir Walter and Lady Charlotte. Didn't you meet them?"

"Yeah. That girl with them. She looks familiar."

"I believe that's their granddaughter, Susan."

Recognition dawned. "Susan Berry, right?"

"I believe so. Why?"

"We met on the train coming here. Charlie knows her. But she was going to London." Don realized Sam was staring at him. "Sorry. I just couldn't place the face. I wonder if Charlie knows she's here." He forced himself to stop staring. "Uh, so Sam, when was the last time you had steak?'


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

"I don't know, Charlie," Larry said as he finished the last of his fish. "I think Otto Stern has a good chance at winning the Nobel Prize in physics this year. You remember the lecture he gave last year at Berkley?"

"Of course I do, but don't you think they're going to have to ignore the work he did with Gerlach? I mean, Gerlach decided to stay in Germany."

"Well, so did Heisenberg. That doesn't mean he's a Nazi."

"Gerlach and Heisenberg both had ample opportunities to leave. Why didn't they?"

Larry shrugged. "Who knows? Maybe they didn't want to leave their families? It doesn't mean they agree with what Hitler is doing. But you can't deny that Stern's work has been groundbreaking."

"We'll just have to wait and see what the Nobel committee thinks. You feel like having dessert?" Charlie asked.

"I would dearly love strawberry shortcake with whipped cream," Larry said with a sigh. "But I imagine that's not going to happen."

"I think you're right." Charlie hailed the waitress. "Miss? We'd like to order dessert."

"Oh, very good, Sir. We have rhubarb pie, spotted dick with custard, or a nice custard pie."

The men stifled their grins, and Larry asked. "What's spotted dick?"

"Oh, it's a lovely steamed suet pudding with dried currants in it. I think you'd enjoy it, if you don't mind my saying."

Charlie struggled not to laugh. "Well, then, we'll definitely have to try the spotted dick, won't we, Larry?"

"Definitely. And we'd like coffee too, please."

"Of course, Sir. I'll be back in a moment."

The spotted dick didn't look anything like Charlie and Larry expected. It was a rather unpretentious tan colored cylindrical slice, speckled with currants, resting in a pool of custard. They exchanged glances, then tasted the pudding. "Mmmm," Charlie said. "She was right. It is very good."

"It is. Unfortunately, I don't believe it could ever attain popularity back home unless we gave it a different name."

Don grinned at Sam's expression as the waitress placed the sizzling steak in front her. Once the waitress had left, he said, "I hope it's as good as it looks."

"Even if it isn't, it will still be the best meal I've had since rationing started."

"Well, here goes," Don said as they began cutting their steaks.

Sam closed her eyes and savored the first bite. When she opened them again, she smiled. "Perfect."

They ate quietly for a few minutes, watching the seagulls swoop close to the diners. Don chuckled as he noticed Sir Walter shooing a particularly persistent bird away. Just as Sam turned to see what he was laughing at, Susan Berry looked their way and nodded slightly.

"You should say hello to her," Sam said, turning back to face Don. "It looks like she recognized you."

"Nah. That's okay. She's just someone I met for thirty seconds on the train. I'll tell Charlie she's here, though. I think he has a crush on her."

"Really? She is pretty. And rich. How does Charlie know her?"

"They work together at our … other assignment."

"Ooh, the top secret assignment they tore you away from to come here. If you and Miss Berry both work there, but didn't know each other, it must be a large operation."

"It is. Very large. When we saw her, she said she was going to London to visit with her mother. She didn't say anything about coming here."

"Should she have? I mean, this is still pretty much a free country. They do limit travel to the coast, but if she has relatives here, and I imagine she has a security clearance of some sort if she's working with Charlie … ."

Don shook **off** his feeling of unease and chuckled. "Don't worry about it. I'm just getting paranoid. Eat your steak before it gets cold."

When they finished their meals, Don glanced at his watch. "We'd better get going. The movie will be starting soon."

Sam rolled her eyes. "There'll be the newsreel first. More depressing news from the front, undoubtedly." She glanced out at the fortifications on the beach. "I think the worst was when the boats brought the survivors back from Dunkirk."

"They landed here?"

"They did. The fishing fleet went across the channel to pick them up. I was with Mr. Foyle. He had come to tell one of the fishermen his son was no longer a suspect in a murder. But the poor boy had been killed by a Jerry bullet while he was loading survivors onto his dad's boat."

Don hailed the waitress and paid the bill. "Please thank the chef for us. The steak was wonderful."

"I will, Sir. You and the lady have a good evening."

As they walked past Sir Walter's table, Don nodded. "Good evening," he said politely.

Sir Walter scowled, clearly trying to remember who Don was. Susan smiled and said, "Good evening, Captain Eppes. I hope you and your brother enjoy your seaside holiday."

"You too, Miss Berry," Don smiled politely.

Once they were out of earshot, Sam said, "Does she really think you're here on holiday?"

"Who knows? I gave up trying to figure women out long ago."

Sam gave him a playful punch, and didn't resist when he grabbed her hand and continued to hold it as they walked to the theater.

---------------------------------------------------

Anna glanced up as Larry and Charlie passed, but quickly looked away when Charlie opened his mouth to speak. She had taken out a notebook and was writing as she drank her coffee. "Good evening, Miss Buonaroti," Charlie said softly. She didn't reply.

Charlie slowly shook his head, let out a frustrated sigh and pulled out his pocket watch as he and Larry entered the lobby. "I think I'm going to go back to the school and work for a little while."

"Would you like me to come along?" Larry asked reluctantly.

"No," Charlie said, "You have your own work to do. Turing will be down here to hound you for it if you don't get him his results." He glanced back at the dining room. "I had hoped to be otherwise occupied after dinner."

"She is a temperamental young lady, isn't she?" Larry said.

"She is that. I'm beginning to think she's more trouble than she's worth. Just the thought of spending the next fifty years with someone like that gives me the willies."

"You're young yet, Charles. You have plenty of time to find that special someone. Speaking of time, I'd better get to work. Just be careful, will you? Even with double summer time, it's going to be dark when you walk back and they keep the streetlights off now."

"I'll be careful."

"And don't forget to pull the blackout shades and turn everything off when you're done."

"Yes, Mother," Charlie laughed. "See you later, alligator!"

"In a while, crocodile," Larry waved as he headed up the stairs.

---------------------------------------------------------

"So, how'd you like 'Sullivan's Travels?'" Don asked as he and Sam joined the crowd pouring out onto the street.

"I loved it! I haven't seen Joel McCrea in many comedies, but he's very good. It was funny, but it was more than a comedy, you know? It had a very good message to it. People going through tough times do need something to brighten their day."

"You mean, they don't need a ponderous, serious movie like that "Oh, Brother, Where Art Thou" that Sully wanted to make?"

"Not at all. If you're living ponderous and serious, you certainly don't want to see it for entertainment. Thank you so much for bringing me." Sam ran her fingers through her hair. "I wonder how I'd look with Veronica Lake's hairstyle."

Don touched her hair gently. "You'd look lovely no matter what you did with your hair."

Sam laughed and began pulling bobby pins out of her hair. She shook her head and let her strawberry blonde hair drape over her right eye. "There. Whaddya think of that, Mr. Smearcase?"

Don laughed and brushed her hair back from her eye. "Nice Veronica Lake imitation. You dropped your accent!"

"Accent? What accent? You're the one with the accent 'ere, Yank," Sam replied in an exaggerated Cockney accent.

Don checked his watch. "How about we stop at a pub on the way back to your place? We've got a little while before closing time."

"I'd love it," Sam said as she pinned her hair back into place. "It's easier to see with both eyes uncovered."

"You know, there's a newsreel playing in the states reminding women who work in factories to keep their hair back out of their faces. They even got Veronica Lake to model the preferred hairstyle. It looked a lot like the way you wear your hair while you're on duty."

"Really? Does this mean I'm a fashion leader?"

Don took her hand gently and gave it a squeeze. "You should be." He caught sight of a pub up ahead of them. "How's the Bird and Whistle?"

Sam shrugged. "I haven't been in there before, but it looks all right to me." She looped her arm through Don's. "Besides, I have a big strong soldier boy to protect me if it gets too rough in there."

---------------------------------------------

Walking by himself from the inn to the school, Charlie was able to pay more attention to his surroundings. The buildings were squeezed together on narrow streets that meandered down from the surrounding hills to the sea. He passed a bombed out pub and wondered if that was where Sharon Levine had been murdered. Shuddering, he hurried past the building. He wondered whether she knew what was in the message. Did she know her killer? He glanced nervously over his shoulder. Was she killed for the message, and if so, was the killer still around?

Charlie began to wonder if it was smart to walk to the school by himself. It was too late to turn back now. He could see the school ahead in the fading daylight. He might as well spend a couple of hours tinkering with the code to see if he could get it to make any sense. Then he could get back to Bletchley. Larry would be thrilled to hear that. Don wouldn't.

He wondered how Don's date with Sam was going. She was a cute girl, and she and Don seemed to really hit it off. Bletchley wasn't all that far away, so it was possible that they could continue their relationship even after they finished here. He hoped so, anyway. When they were kids, Don had missed out on a lot because their parents were busy arranging for tutors and special classes to nurture Charlie's genius. Maybe he should take his time with the deciphering and buy his brother a little more time with his new girlfriend. He smiled to himself. There was really no way of knowing how close he was to a solution. That's why Bletchley had crossword experts and others who were used to picking words out of a jumble of letters. His could deal with the numerical aspects of deciphering, but sometimes the words eluded him.

As he climbed the steps to the school front door, he fished the key out of his pocket. He glanced back down at the street. The good citizens of Hastings were bustling about their evening business, heading home from work, going to the pub, or maybe even a movie like Don and Sam. None of them paid any attention to him as he unlocked the door and entered the empty school building.

He slipped the key back into his pocket and entered the classroom. Everything was as they had left it just a few hours earlier. He studied the letters on the board. The list under "witsef" was clearly wrong, so he turned back to the list under "hitsef."

lilbbq twielm rrioeo ambxrx eyfbre tjugek ouakef otadet erhhsf agebfb ossbbx eoneyw illaed asaeae trelod tshxwu llbxkz owntse ecogde ubaetq rneeil abemhi indlod kesmrq lwielb rovbdq anymhu nghyuz eedvoz tacmmq asshoz asyhut avetco ompeie hedrog rmilsu onnxxf droiwu llbxiz thephu tefxaf her

That was wrong as well, but it looked like it made more sense than the other list. Even to his mathematically trained eye, words were beginning to form. He and Larry had discussed replacing the 's' with an 'l.' Working alone, it would take longer, but he settled down to work, writing HITLEF on a blackboard and beginning to write the letters below it.

He had gotten as far as lilibq twillm rriveo when he heard a noise out in the hallway. He stood, frozen, then turned toward the door, holding his breath. The noise repeated, and he identified it as the sound of an old building settling. Blowing out his breath, he wished someone had thought to bring a radio into the room to break the silence. He turned back to his work and decided to hum. Finally, he settled on Glenn Miller's "Chattanooga Choo Choo." The humming quickly changed to soft singing. Nothing like a catchy tune to overcome the creaking of an old building.

He had just written the next group of letters, amberx eyfire tjunek ouaref when the classroom door slammed open. He spun around, half expecting to see Don and Sam. Three men stood in the doorway, grinning. "Uh, can I help you?" Charlie asked.

"Yeah," one of the men, a burly redhead said as they approached Charlie. "You can get the hell out of Hastings, you bloody Yank."

"I … I'm afraid I won't be able to accommodate you. I'm working with the police … ."

"The coppers will just have to make do without you," the redhead said. He and one of the others, a blond in mechanic's overalls, stood in front of Charlie, while the other man stood behind him. Charlie glanced back at the man, thinking he looked vaguely familiar.

"Yeah, kike," the man snarled, "we met in the pub at lunchtime. I didn't know who you was then, or I would have taken care of business at lunch."

"Who do you think I am? Listen, I'm just a professor …

"Shaddup!" Mick punched Charlie in the face, knocking him into the others.

The redhead grabbed Charlie and held him as Mick punched him in the stomach. Charlie doubled over, and the redhead yanked him upright again. "You're a professor who's gonna get his bloody yank arse out of Hastings."

"The police are going to … ."

"The police ain't gonna do nothin'," Mick said as he punched Charlie in the ribs. "You ain't gonna tell them who we are."

"I don't know who you are," Charlie groaned.

The redhead punched Charlie in the kidney. "You're not gonna even remember what we look like."

Charlie's knees buckled, and he would have fallen to the floor if the redhead and the blond hadn't dragged him back to his feet. The blond slugged Charlie in the face. He dropped to the floor, unconscious.

-------------------------------------------------

Don opened the door to the Bird and Whistle and ushered Sam into the pub. The other customers, mostly fishermen, looked up as they entered. Don glanced at Sam and whispered, "Is this okay?"

"It's fine," Sam said. "I hope. We'll see how the publican reacts when we approach the bar."

The publican grinned as they approached. "What can I get you, Sir?"

"I'll have a pint. The lady…," he turned questioningly to Sam.

"I'll have a half pint," she told Don.

"The lady will have a half pint."

Once Don had their drinks in hand, he and Sam went in search of a table. They finally found one in a relatively quiet corner. Don glanced around the room. The fishermen had apparently decided the strangers were all right and had gone back to their own conversations and drinks. "There are no other ladies here," Don said.

"That's not unusual," Sam said. "This is clearly a local. The men come here to get away from their wives."

Don laughed and touched Sam's cheek. "I'd never come to a bar to get away from you."

Sam blushed and looked down at her beer.

"I'm sorry," Don said softly. "Am I being too forward for you?"

Sam shrugged, not looking up. "Not really. It's just that you'll be gone as soon as your brother's finished his work."

Don sighed. "True. And before long, I'll be back home. It doesn't give us much time."

"No, it doesn't." She finally looked up and met Don's eyes. "It's not fair, really. I would like to get to know you better."

"You think there could be something between us?"

Sam looked away again. "There could be. But how are we going to know? I'm not going to pick up and follow you. And you're certainly not free to stay here."

Don took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I guess we just have to enjoy what little time we have together."

"That we'll have to do," Sam said, taking a long drink of her beer.

They had nearly finished their beers when the publican announced, "Last orders, gentlemen."

"You want another?" Don asked.

"No, thank you. This is more than enough for me. We still have a ways to walk."

They finished their drinks, and left just as the publican was announcing closing, "Time, please, gentlemen."

Don put his arm over Sam's shoulders and pulled her close as they walked. "This has been fun," he said. "Are there any other movies playing here? We could do this again tomorrow night."

"I'd love to. I think there's a cinema in the High Street. I don't know what's playing there, though."

"Does it matter?" Don asked.

Sam grinned and snuggled closer to him. "Not at all."

"All right. It's a date then."

When they arrived at Sam's place, Don slipped his arm from her shoulders and took her hands in his. "Sam Stewart, this has been a great night."

Sam looked up at him, smiling. "That it has, Don Eppes."

Don leaned down and kissed her gently. When they came up for breath, he touched her cheek. "See you tomorrow?"

Sam stood on her tiptoes and kissed him again. "See you tomorrow."

Don watched as Sam trotted up the steps and opened the door. She turned and waved. "Good night."

"Good night," he said as she went inside and closed the door behind her. He waited until he heard the door lock before he turned toward the inn. He had taken two steps when he heard a sound behind him. He turned, but not quickly enough. Something hit him in the head. He stumbled, reaching for his gun, realizing too late that he had left it in his room. Someone grabbed his arm and twisted it behind him. He flung his left elbow back, and heard a grunt behind him. The grip on his arm loosened enough that he could pull free, but there were two more men in front of him. One slammed a meaty fist into his mouth, and the other grabbed his arm before he could react.

The assailant he had elbowed came around front and punched him in the gut. "Bloody Yank! Why don't you go back where you belong?"

Don struggled to free himself. Suddenly, the thug holding him let out a yell and released his grip. Don turned to see what happened, and caught sight of Sam, swinging a shovel at Don's assailants. "Get out of here!" She yelled. "I've called the police and they'll be here any minute."

One of the thugs snarled, "We'll be back for you and your brother, kike," then turned and ran with the others.

Don swayed. Sam grabbed him. "Come on. Let's get you inside."

Author's Note: Here's a link to the WWII public service newsreel Veronica Lake made: .com/watch?v=mgpvKXLTwr8


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

Charlie coughed. Realizing that breathing through his nose didn't work, he opened his mouth and gasped for air.

"Mick. Your buddy 'ere is waking up."

Charlie opened his eyes and blinked a few times, trying to clear his vision.

"Gimme a minute," Mick called.

Charlie looked in the direction of Mick's voice. The man was erasing the blackboards. The blond was gathering up papers and shoving them into the fireplace. Charlie pushed himself to a sitting position. "Stop!"

Mick dropped the eraser and strode toward Charlie. "I'd like to see you make me."

Charlie stood shakily, bracing himself against the wall. He had no clue what he was going to do. He just knew he had to stop them from destroying his work. "You can't… ."

Mick sneered, slamming a fist into Charlie's belly. "Siddown and shut yer yap."

Charlie dropped to his knees, gasping for breath.

"Oy, Red," the blond said, "look at this." He handed a paper to the redhead. "Is that a copy of the original message?"

Red studied the paper. "Sure looks like it. We'd better take this with us."

"No!" Charlie clutched his belly with one hand and struggled to his feet again.

Mick backhanded him. He slammed back against the wall, and slid into a sitting position. He was trying to stand again when his eyes drifted shut and he sank into darkness.

------------------------------------------

Don let Sam help him up the stairs. "Do you have a phone?"

"I do, but you're in no shape … ."

Don pulled away from Sam. "I'm fine! Just show me the phone."

"You don't have to snap at me."

"I'm sorry, Sam. Those guys mean business. They're after Charlie and me because we're Jewish. You heard what they called me. Let me just call the inn and check in with Charlie."

Sam sighed. "I guess that makes sense. The telephone's over there. The directory is on the shelf beneath it. Or do you have the White Feather's number memorized?"

"Charlie's the numbers guy, not me," Don said as he pulled the book out. He looked up the phone number and dialed. "Hello? Mrs. Weeks? This is Don Eppes. Is my brother there?"

"He's gone out, Captain. Would you like to leave a message?"

"Did he say where he was going?"

"I thought he said something to Dr. Fleinhardt about going to school. But that couldn't be right, could it? It's rather late to be going to school."

"That makes sense. I'll check there. Thanks, Mrs. Weeks."Don hung up and turned around looking for Sam. "Sam?"

She returned, carrying a wet washcloth and a towel. "I'm here. Let me clean you off a bit."

"Later. Something doesn't feel right about this whole thing. Do you have a car?"

"No. And the Wolseley is at the police station. What's wrong?"

"Charlie's gone to the school by himself. I want to go up to the school and make sure he's okay.

"I have a bicycle, if that would help."

"Yeah, that would be great. Where is it?" Don was already heading for the front door.

"It's in the back garden. Come on through the kitchen. Are you sure you'll be all right?" She lifted the washcloth and dabbed at Don's mouth as they walked to the kitchen.

"I'll be fine." He reached up and squeezed her hand. "You can patch me up after I make sure Charlie's okay." He gave her a kiss on the cheek. "Did you ever consider a career in the majors? The way you swung that shovel, you could have hit a home run."

"I'm not sure if I know what that means, but thanks." She opened the back door and she and Don walked to the bicycle leaning against the fence. "Drive carefully!" She touched his cheek. "You've got enough bumps and bruises. And you'd better come back so I can fix you up. I did have first aid training, you know."

Don began wheeling the bike toward the front of the house. "Do I have to drive this thing on the wrong side of the road?"

"It's the correct side," Sam called as he rode out of the yard.

------------------------------------------

Charlie awoke to pain. It took him a moment to remember where he was and why it hurt. He opened his eyes and squeezed them shut, trying to clear his vision. "Charlie?" a woman's voice whispered.

He opened his eyes again and stared at the blurry shape hovering over him."Who? Wha..?" The voice sounded familiar, but he just couldn't place it.

"Charlie, it's me, Anna. What happened?"

"Anna? Wha're you doin' here?"

"Never mind that. What the hell happened to you? Who were those guys…?"

"Whoa, whoa. One question at a time, okay?" Charlie struggled to sit up, pressing his hand to his ribs. "Ouch!" He reached up and gingerly touched his nose. "I think it's broken."

Anna pulled his hand away from his face. "Let me see. I think you're right. You stay here. I'm going to call for an ambulance."

Charlie grabbed her arm. "No. Wait. Help me up."

"Is that really a good idea?"

"I need to call Don. They're going after him." Charlie began pulling himself to his feet.

"Who were they?" Anna said as she stood with him.

"I don't know. Three thugs. They were trying to convince me to stop working on this," he waved a hand toward the blackboards.

Anna bent to help him to his feet. "Whatever it was, it looks like most of it's been erased."

Charlie groaned as he looked at the remnants of his work. Most of the groups of letters were gone. Some of the words near the top were still visible, but that was about it."I know. But first I've got to get to the phone. It's out in the lobby." Anna put her arm around his waist, and they walked to the lobby. He dialed the number of the White Feather. "Mrs. Weeks, this is Charlie Eppes. Is Don there?"

"I'm afraid not, Dr. Eppes. He just called looking for you a few minutes ago. I told him you went to school, and he seemed to understand what that meant. Was that all right? I overheard you speaking with Dr. Fleinhardt."

"That's fine. Do you know if Dr. Fleinhardt is in?"

"I believe so. Let me put you through to his room."

A moment later, Larry answered, "Hello?"

"Larry, this is Charlie. Is your door locked?"

"No. Why?"

"Lock it now, and don't open it. Some guys just attacked me in the school and destroyed all of our work."

"Oh my, Charles! Are you all right?"

"I'll be fine. Just a few bumps and bruises. Listen, put the phone down and go lock your door. Now."

Larry sighed. "All right. I think you're overreacting, but I'll humor you. Hang on." Charlie grimaced as the phone clattered on a hard surface. A moment later, Larry said, "I'm back. The door is locked. Have you called the police?"

"Not yet. I need to find Don first and make sure he's okay. Keep your door locked!" Charlie warned. "I'll see you later." Charlie hung up the phone and looked around the lobby. Anna was gone. "Anna? Where are you?"

"In here," her voice came from the classroom. "What do these words mean? 'Witsef,' 'hitsef,' 'hitler?'"

"Hitler? No, that last one is … ." Charlie's eyes widened as he realized what Anna had just said and he hobbled into the room. "Those were our attempts at finding the key word to decrypt the message. But I think you may have solved it." He limped over to the fireplace and knelt with difficulty, looking at the pile of ashes and scorched papers. He began tugging papers away from the flames.

"What are you doing? You're going to get burned!" Anna rushed to his side and pulled his hand away from the fireplace.

Charlie pushed her hand aside. "Stop it! I've got to find a copy of the message. I should have stopped them …," he yanked a smoldering piece of paper away from the flames. "Yes!"

Anna stood quickly and stepped on the smoldering edges of the paper. "Be careful!"

"Help me up," Charlie reached up. As Anna pulled him to his feet, he gasped in pain.

"I'm sorry. Did I hurt you?"

"I'm okay. Let's get to work."

"Come over here and sit at the desk. I'm going to call for an ambulance."

"Forget that." He handed the paper to her. "Read these letters to me in groups of six." Charlie walked to the board and picked up a piece of chalk.

"Why?" Anna stood, hands on hips.

Charlie slammed the chalk down. "You have been pestering the heck out of me to tell you what's going on. That," he pointed at the paper in Anna's hand, "is an encoded message that may very well be the reason why your friend was killed. I think you may have stumbled upon the keyword that will let me decode the message and maybe give the police some idea who killed her. Now, are you going to help me or not?"

"How about if you sit and read this and I write on the blackboard? All I have to do it put the letters in groups of six, right? I may not be a spymaster, but I think I can handle that much."

"Deal." Charlie took the paper and sat at the desk. He squinted at the paper, trying to clear his vision.

"What's wrong?" Anna asked.

"I'm seeing two of everything."

Anna put her hands on Charlie's shoulders and began to gently massage them. "Why don't you take a moment and rest?"

Just as Charlie was beginning to relax, they heard the front door open. Anna squeezed his shoulders. "Oh, God! Are they coming back?"

"Charlie!?" Don called from the hallway. A moment later, he pushed the classroom door open.

Charlie struggled to his feet. "Don? Are you okay?"

Don rushed to Charlie's side. "Buddy? What happened? Who did this?"

"I don't know who they are. Larry and I did run into one of them at lunch today. What happened to you?" Charlie scowled as he studied Don's face.

"Three guys jumped me after I dropped Sam off at her place."

"Is she okay?"

"She's fine," Don grinned. "She whacked them with a shovel and chased them away. And don't say it. Yeah, I was rescued by a girl." Anna laughed, drawing Don's attention. "What are you doing here?"

"I … uh … I noticed Charlie leaving, and I felt bad for being so nasty to him at dinner, so I followed him. I wanted to apologize."

"And you wanted to figure out what he was doing, right?" Don asked.

"All right. You got me. All this cloak and dagger stuff made me curious. And I don't like not knowing what's going on."

Don narrowed his eyes. "You know, of course, that you're not going to be able to tell anyone else about what you see here."

"Aw, come on, Don. I'm a reporter. You can't expect me to sit on a story this big."

"I can, and I do," Don said. "What is going on here has already cost one life. And who knows how many more people will die because of whatever this is," he waved at the blackboards. He turned to Charlie. "The guys who attacked you – they erased your work?"

"Yeah. They erased the boards, kept a copy of the original message and burned the rest. They said they had the keyword and were going to translate the message. But I think Anna may have figured out the keyword. If she has it right, I should be able to decipher the message before it's too late."

"Crap," Don said. "I guess you'd better get it deciphered then. Larry didn't come with you?"

"No. He had some work to do for our other job. I called him and told him to lock his door."

"Good idea. How long do you think this'll take?"

"Not long. If Anna's right about the keyword, all I need to do is change this version back to the original and then use Anna's keyword to decipher it."

"So you'll need one of those charts with all the alphabets on it, right? I can take care of that while you read that stuff to Anna. Then when you're done with it, we can call Christopher and get him on the case."

"Makes sense to me. That chart with the alphabets is called the Vigenere square, by the way. All right, Anna," Charlie said, "You ready? At the top of the board, write 'witsef.' That's the keyword we were using when we wrote this sheet."

Don finished the Vigenere square, then pulled a chair over next to Charlie and sat down. Charlie was running his finger along the groups of letters as he read them to Anna. He glanced up at Don and gave him a shaky grin. Don wondered if his face looked as bad as his brother's. Charlie's nose was swollen and off kilter enough that Don was sure it was broken. The bleeding had stopped but his breathing was still labored. Don reached out and took hold of the paper in Charlie's hand. "Why don't you let me read for a while?"

Charlie released the paper and nodded. "Start here," he pointed to the next group of letters. "You sure you're okay?"

Don shook his head. "No. But I'm doing better than you."

Once Anna finished writing the message on the blackboard, Charlie pushed himself to his feet. "Now I'll use Don's Vigenere square to fix the first, fourth and sixth letters in each group. They were decoded using "witsef," and I'll change them so they're decoded with "Hitler" instead. Then we'll see if we have anything that makes sense."

"How will you do that?" Don asked. "Don't you have to get it back to the original first?"

"I'll actually be doing both steps at once. Look," he pointed to the first group Anna had written, 'WILBBQ.' "The first letter is 'w.' I go to the top row of the Vigenere square and find the 'w.' Then I go down that column until I get to the row that begins with 'w.' The letter I hit is 's.' That changes it back to the way it was in the original message. So I go up to the row beginning with 'h' and go across until I hit 's.' Then I follow up that column to the top and the letter is 'l.' Is that clear?" He used his fingers to erase the 'w' and changed it to an 'l.'

"Clear as mud," Don admitted. "But I guess you know what you're doing. I'll just shut up and let you do your magic."

Don and Anna watched quietly as Charlie changed the message. When he stepped away from the board, the message was:

LILIBE TWILLA RRIVEC AMBERL EYFIRS TJUNEY OUARET OTAKEH ERHOST AGEIFP OSSIBL EONLYK ILLHER ASALAS TRESOR TSHEWI LLBEKN OWNASS ECONDS UBALTE RNELIZ ABETHW INDSOR KESTRE LWILL ROVIDE ANYTHI NGYOUN EEDCON TACTME ASSOON ASYOUH AVEACC OMPLIS HEDYOU RMISSI ONNEXT DROPWI LLBEIN THEWHI TEFEAT HER

Anna studied it quietly, then began to read, "Lilibet will arrive Camberley first June. You are to take her hostage if possible. Only kill her as a last resort. She will be known as Second Subaltern Elizabeth Windsor. Kestrel will provide anything you need. Contact me as soon as you have accomplished your mission. Next drop will be in the White Feather."

"Who's Lilibet?" Charlie asked.

"Elizabeth Windsor," Don said softly. "Princess Elizabeth. Next in line for the throne of England."

"Lilibet is her family's nickname for her," Anna said.

Don was on his feet, heading for the lobby. "I'm calling Foyle."

AUTHOR'S NOTE: At the end of the last chapter, I posted a link to a YouTube video showing Veronica Lake. I forgot Fanfiction dot net automatically deletes all references to websites. I apologize for the confusion. I also apologize for uploading this chapter twice. A few words somehow got dropped from the first upload.


	18. Chapter 18

Charlie watched Don leave the room to call DCS Foyle. The excitement of solving the code had kept him going. But now, his injuries were getting the better of him. With a sigh of fatigue, he braced his hands on the desk, eased himself down into the chair, and closed his eyes.

Anna sat beside him. "That was brilliant," she said softly, "Decoding that message like you did."

Charlie opened his eyes and smiled weakly. "I couldn't have done it without you. You wouldn't believe how many letter combinations we tried and still couldn't come up with the keyword."

Anna reached over and squeezed Charlie's shoulder. "You were trying combinations of letters. I was seeing words. It's just a different way of looking at things."

"True. I've done a lot of work deciphering coded messages here in England. They've brought together people from all sorts of fields you'd never think possible. But each person sees the message from a different viewpoint, and together we've become a team that gets the job done. You and I are a good team, Anna Buonaroti."

Anna grinned. "That we are, Dr. Eppes." She grew serious. "They found that coded message on Sharon's body, didn't they?"

Charlie hesitated.

"Oh, come on, Charlie! You can tell me."

Charlie glanced nervously at the classroom door. "I don't know…"

"You said we're a good team. Besides," she waved a hand at the decoded message on the blackboard., "I know about this. Why can't I know about where they found the note?"

Charlie sighed. "It was found folded up inside her shoe."

"You don't think she was a spy, do you?"

Charlie shrugged. "No, I don't think so, but honestly, I don't know for sure. I was just brought here to decipher the message."

"She couldn't have been involved in this. She hated the Nazis. She was Jewish, for God's sake."

Charlie sighed and closed his eyes again. "Why don't we ask Don when he gets back? He's been involved in the investigation end of things."

Anna stood. "You stay here and rest. I'll be right back."

"You're an impatient woman, Miss Buonaroti," Charlie murmured without opening his eyes.

"I didn't get where I am by sitting around waiting for other people to act." She smiled gently at him and touched his cheek. "You rest. I'll be right back."

Don stood at the phone, rubbing his eyes. He glanced up as Anna entered the lobby and held up his index finger. "Just a minute," he mouthed. He turned his attention back to the phone. "Yes, this is Captain Eppes. Please connect me with Lt. Colby Granger. Thanks." He turned back to Anna. "I'll be a couple of minutes. Why don't you sit with Charlie?"

"All right, but we need to talk."

"Okay." He turned his attention back to the phone. "Granger, it's Don. I need you to catch the next train down to Hastings. There's been some serious developments down here. We're going to need your special skills. Oh, yeah, if you can get a car, that's even better. All right. We're staying at an inn called the White Feather. If we're not there, check the police station, and ask for DCS Christopher Foyle. That's right, F-O-Y-L-E. Okay, thanks. See you soon." He hung up the phone and walked back into the classroom. "What's on your mind, Anna?"

"Charlie tells me you found that message in Sharon's shoe. She was not a spy. You don't think she was, do you?"

"I don't. I think she was killed because someone found out she intercepted the message. And I think the people who attacked Charlie and me are the same people who killed her. But, listen, I'm not officially on this case, so I'm not going to say anything more than what I've already told you."

"Okay," Anna said reluctantly.

"Listen, Christopher should be here any minute. I called the station, but Larry had already called, and they contacted Christopher at home." He glanced at Charlie, who had folded his arms on the desk and rested his head on them. "When Christopher finishes here, we're going to take Charlie to the hospital."

"You'd better get checked too," Charlie murmured without lifting his head.

"I'm okay," Don said. "I've been beaten up worse in basic training."

Charlie straightened and stretched. "You were a lot younger back then. Come on, it won't hurt to let the doctor check you out as well. If you don't, I'll tell Dad."

Don rolled his eyes. "The joy of working with a kid brother." Don pulled a chair over to the desk and sat next to Charlie. "Hey, Charlie, I called Colby and asked him to come down here."

"You really think we need him?" Charlie asked.

"Yeah, I do. I think it's going to get a little crazy now, and you'll need more protection than I'm able to provide." Don nodded at the blackboard. "Look at what you've uncovered. These guys have killed at least once, and they're planning on kidnapping a member of the royal family. They just gave us both a pretty serious warning, and it's obvious they'll follow up on it once they realize we aren't going anywhere."

"But now that we've deciphered the message, what's the point in coming after us again?"

"Listen, Buddy, they don't know you've deciphered it. And we've got to make sure they don't find out."

"Why does that matter? If they know we know, maybe they'll give up on kidnapping the princess," Anna said.

"Exactly. If they know we've figured it out, they'll change their plans. That'll make it harder for us to catch them. We know where they're planning on striking. We can be waiting for them. Colby will be helpful for more than just muscle. He's worked with the underground in France and Germany. He knows how the krauts think." He glanced at Anna. "You can't tell anybody about him. Ever."

"My lips are sealed," Anna said, running her thumb and index finger along her lips. "But I'm going to have to ask you to give me the scoop on this story. A plot against the royal family is huge." Her voice rose in excitement, "Can you imagine what it would do for my career?".

Don scowled. "Sorry, but your career is the last thing on my mind right now. I'll do what I can to get you your scoop, but I don't want to hear anything more about it until my brother and the princess are safe and these guys are put away. Deal?"

"Deal," Anna said. "I'll do anything I can to help, but I'll stay out of your way."

"Good." A noise at the front door drew Don's attention. "Stay here. I'm going to see who's here." He reached for his sidearm and muttered a curse when he realized it wasn't there.

As Don entered the lobby, the front door opened, admitting Foyle, Milner, Larry and Sam. Don gave Sam a quick, questioning look, then reached out to shake hands with Foyle. "Christopher! Thanks for coming."

Foyle smiled. "Sgt. Brooke called me with messages from Dr. Fleinhardt and you. Then Sam showed up at my front door with the car and Dr. Fleinhardt. How could I not come?"

"Sam, you moved pretty fast," Don said as he led the way into the classroom.

Sam shrugged. "I had to make sure I'd get my bicycle back. Actually, after he called Mr. Foyle, Brookey drove by to pick me up." Sam's eyes widened as they entered the classroom. "Charlie! You poor thing!"

Charlie stood slowly. "It's not as bad as it looks. Larry! I thought I told you to lock your door and stay in your room."

"Yes, you did." Larry caught sight of the message. "Oh, my God, Charles! You solved it!"

"Anna came up with the keyword," Charlie said as he limped to the blackboard.

Foyle stood next to Larry, silently studying the deciphered message. "You've done excellent work, gentlemen. I shudder to think what would have happened if you hadn't discovered this plot in time." He turned to Don. "I phoned the Home Office before I came here. They'll be sending a team down first thing tomorrow."

Don nodded. "I have a man coming who's very familiar with Nazi espionage. He should be here in a couple of hours. We're available if you'd like our help."

"I appreciate that. However, once the Home Office team arrives, it will be pretty much out of my hands," Foyle said regretfully.

"You do have a murder and two assaults to investigate," Don said with a sly grin. "I'm sure the Home Office will be too busy to concern themselves with local issues."

Milner smiled. "Captain Eppes _**is**_ here to make sure we find out who killed an American citizen."

Foyle removed his hat and scratched his head. Finally he nodded. "You bring up a good point, Milner. I'm certain we can do our job without interfering in the work of the Home Office. But we will find out who killed Miss Levine. We've discovered a very strong motive, and I wouldn't be surprised if her death is somehow linked to the two assaults. Let's begin by getting the statements of our two assault victims. Then we'll have Sam drop them off at the hospital to get their injuries tended to."

"Very good, Sir." Milner nodded and took out his notebook as Foyle and the others took seats.

"Dr. Eppes, let's start with you. You were here in this room when you were assaulted?"

"Yes, I was. After dinner, I decided to come back here and try to get some work done. I was engrossed in my work when I heard the front door open. I thought maybe Don had stopped by, but it was three men. I had seen one of them in the pub across the street at lunchtime today. His name is Mick."

Larry's eyes widened. "Mick? The man who threatened you in the pub?"

"Was he the guy you told me about?" Don asked.

Charlie nodded miserably. "I bumped his chair in the pub and he called me a damned kike. I think if his friend, Danny, hadn't held him back he would have punched me then and there. They're both car mechanics."

Milner nodded grimly. "Sounds like Mick Duffy and Danny O'Hara. They work at the garage around the corner. Unpleasant blokes with barely a brain between them. Probably just hired muscle for whoever planned this whole thing."

Charlie stifled a grin. "That was my impression too. Danny wasn't there. There was a blond guy and a redhead they called Red."

"Red Lewis is a known associate of Mick Duffy. Another chap with more brawn than brain," Foyle said. "Describe the blond, if you would."

"He wasn't as muscular as the others. He wore mechanic's overalls, but they were clean, not greasy and dirty like Mick's were in the pub. He was taking our papers and putting them in the fireplace. He was the one who found a copy of the original message. But he asked Red about it. Red agreed it looked like the original message and told the blond to take it. I tried to stop them."

Don squeezed Charlie's shoulder. "What were you thinking?"

"Well, somebody had to stop them, and I was the only one there. I'm sorry. I wish I was trained in hand to hand combat like you were."

"Hey, you did the best you could. But you could have gotten yourself killed." He added softly, "I don't know what I would have done if that had happened."

Foyle interrupted, "The blond. How tall was he? Any distinguishing marks?"

Charlie pondered for a moment. "Maybe five-eight, five-nine. A little shorter than Don. I didn't really notice anything else about him. I'm sorry."

"No need to apologize, Doctor. I would say you acquitted yourself quite well, given the circumstances. Your brother is right. You are fortunate you weren't more seriously injured. Now, what did the three men say to you or to each other?"

Charlie did his best to remember everything the men said. When he was finished speaking, he sank back into his chair with a sigh. "I think that's it. There may have been more, but my head was a little fuzzy."

"You did an excellent job, Doctor. Thank you," Foyle said. "Now, Don, tell me about the men who attacked you."

Don gave Charlie a wry grin. "I'm afraid I'm not as good a witness as Charlie was. I was hit from behind. There were three of them. One behind me and two in front. It was dark, so I didn't get a good look at either of them. One of them punched me in the gut and said, 'Bloody Yank! Why don't you go back where you belong?' Definitely doesn't like us Americans here. Sam may have gotten a better look."

Foyle turned to Sam. "Sam, what did you see?"

"Well, I had gone inside, and went to the window to watch Don leave. He had gone only a few feet toward the alley when a man came up behind him and hit him with a club of some kind. He was big, dark haired. I only saw him from the back. That's when I ran outside and grabbed the shovel."

"Did you see the other two?" Foyle asked.

Sam grinned. "I saw one losing a few teeth when I walloped him." She grew serious when Foyle scowled. "Sorry, Sir. He was larger than the other man. Fair haired. And it looked like his nose was broken before I got to it. The third man turned tail and ran before I could get a good look at him. I'm afraid it's not much to go on."

Don took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Another one said, 'We'll be back for you and your brother.' I'm thinking they're not your normal street thugs."

Foyle nodded slowly. "I do believe you're right. We'll need to tread carefully so as to not step on the toes of the Home Office. And we must make sure the public do not find out about this."

"I think we can do that," Don said. "Miss Buonaroti has agreed to keep quiet about what we're doing, and Larry, Charlie and I are used to doing top secret work. We can make this work."

"Excellent," Foyle said. He studied the assembled group. "I'm afraid we've too many people to fit in the car. Sam, why don't you take our guests to the hospital then back to the White Feather? Milner and I will walk back to the station." He nodded at the blackboard. "Dr. Eppes, do you need to copy that before I erase it? We don't want to leave any evidence that the message has been solved."

"Good idea." Charlie pulled a fountain pen from his pocket and copied the deciphered message onto the paper he had salvaged from the fireplace. "Okay. Got it."

Foyle picked up an eraser and wiped the board clean. "There. Is that pretty much as it looked when your assailants left?"

"It is." Charlie folded the paper and stuck it into his pocket. He turned to Don. "Okay, I'm ready to go to the hospital. But I'm warning you, I don't want to stay overnight. We've got too much to do now."

Don grinned. "Okay, Buddy. You tell the doctors that and see how far it gets you."

"The doctors?" Sam chuckled. "I'd be more worried about the ward sisters if I were you. They don't take any nonsense. If they believe you should stay, you will stay. Ask Milner. His wife works there."


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

Sam pulled up and parked in front of the hospital. She looked at Don, who sat in the passenger's seat beside her. "You stay put. I'll come 'round and help you."

Don started to object, but then thought about how pleasant it would feel to have Sam's arm around his waist. He grinned and saluted. "I'm not moving, Miss."

In the back seat, Larry and Anna flanked Charlie. Larry got out of the car and extended his hand. "Come on, Charles, I've got you."

Charlie slid toward him and eased himself out of the car. "It wasn't bad while I was moving, but when I sit still for a while, everything stiffens up."

"We'll move slowly then," Larry took Charlie by the elbow. "Take your time."

Anna walked around the car and took Charlie's other arm. Sam opened Don's door. "Come on, then," she said. "Let me help you up."

Don stood and steadied himself against the car. He smiled as Sam put her arm around his waist. "Thank you," he said softly as he leaned against her. He glanced up and saw Charlie watching him. "What?"

"Nothing," Charlie grinned as he put his arm over Anna's shoulders. "I just wanted to make sure you were okay. I think we're both lucky to have such lovely helpers."

Anna gave Charlie a playful nudge. "You bet you're lucky."

Larry jogged ahead and opened the hospital door. "I'm not certain luck had anything to do with it. There's no scientific evidence for the existence of luck … ."

Charlie chuckled, then grimaced. "I was speaking metaphorically, Larry."

Sam and Don led the way into the hospital and approached the reception desk. "Good evening," Sam said, "DCS Foyle asked me to bring these two gentlemen, Captain Eppes and Dr. Eppes, in for examination. They were attacked and beaten this evening."

The nurse at the desk studied Don and Charlie carefully, then nodded. "Have a seat. It'll be a few minutes." The waiting area wasn't like anything the Americans had ever seen. Instead of wooden benches and uncomfortable chairs, the room was furnished with sofas and overstuffed chairs.

Once they were seated in the waiting area, Larry looked around at the high ceilings, large, leaded windows and elaborate woodwork. "This is a beautiful building! Was it always a hospital?"

Sam replied, "It was originally a mansion, but during the first war, the family gave it over to be used as a hospital for returning soldiers. It's been a hospital ever since."

Don nodded. "I've heard of wealthy families doing things like that."

Sam agreed. "From what I've seen, most wealthy families are doing anything and everything they can to help the war effort. Even the royal family has been doing their bit. Did you know they refused to leave London in spite of the risk? The Queen was asked if the princesses would leave London, and she said the princesses would never leave without her. She would never leave without the King, and the King would never leave."

"She's a very brave woman," Anna said. "And it's wonderful to see the princesses helping with the war effort." As it dawned on her what she had just said, Anna said very softly to Charlie, "We've got to do everything we can to … ."

"I know," Charlie said quietly. "We will."

"Don, speaking of wealthy families," Sam said, "did you tell Charlie about running in to his friend at dinner?"

"Friend?" Charlie asked.

"Oh, yeah. I forgot," Don said, "We saw Susan Berry having dinner with her grandparents. She must have come here after visiting her mom in London." His brow furrowed. "It's kind of strange. Her grandparents are big time anti-Semites, and she's doing … uh … the work she's doing."

"Maybe she's rebelling against the older generation. That's not exactly unheard of," Charlie said.

"Maybe," Don wasn't entirely convinced. "It's gotta be a coincidence." He looked around. "Listen, when the nurse comes for us, why don't you go first? You're in worse shape than I am."

"I'm not going to argue that," Charlie said, slumping back into his chair. "But I'm not going to stay overnight."

"Dr. Eppes?" the nurse at the reception desk stood. "Captain Eppes? Would you gentlemen please come with me?"

Don stood and helped Charlie to his feet. "Come on, Buddy."

Anna stood and took Charlie's arm. "I'm coming with you."

Charlie patted Anna's arm. "I don't think they'd go for that. Besides, I'll be back in a few minutes as good as new."

"Optimist," Don laughed as he and Charlie hobbled behind the nurse.

"Here you go, Dr. Eppes," the nurse opened the door to an exam room. "Dr. Leetch will be with you in just a few minutes." She walked across the hallway. "Captain Eppes, make yourself comfortable. Dr. Leetch will be with you after he finishes with your brother."

"Dr. Leetch?" Don raised his eyebrows. "He doesn't live up to his name, does he?"

"I'm sorry?" the nurse looked confused for a moment, then she covered her mouth and giggled. "Oh, I understand now. No, we haven't used leeches in centuries. Our Dr. Leetch is a war hero. We're lucky to have him back with us."

Charlie looked around the room. There was a stool, presumably for the doctor. The only other place to sit was the exam table. He sighed and hoisted himself up onto the table.

A few minutes later, a tall fair haired man walking with the help of a cane entered the room. "Charles Eppes?" He shook hands with Charlie. "Oswald Leetch. You look like you've had a bit of a run in."

"You could say that," Charlie said.

"Tell me about it," Dr. Leetch said as he began his examination. After a few moments of poking and prodding, he said, "Well, Dr. Eppes, I know you're rather sore all over, so let's get down to business so you can get some rest, shall we? First off, your ribs are cracked and you have quite a bit of bruising. Also, I'm sure it's no great surprise to you that your nose is broken. The worst of your problems though is a concussion. We'll need to keep you here overnight for observation."

"That's not possible."

Dr. Leetch held up a thin hand. "I'm afraid it's not only possible, but necessary."

"We're in the middle of a very important case … ."

"That poor American girl, I presume. Bunty told me about it. Nasty business, beating a poor girl like that and then slitting her throat. Makes one wonder what this world is coming to. However, it is the middle of the night. I doubt very much you're going to be doing much else other than sleep anyway. You might as well do it here where the nurses can keep an eye on you and make sure you haven't done serious injury to your brain." Dr. Leetch stood . "I'll tape up your ribs and nose and then the ward sister will take you to your bed. I understand you have people waiting for you. The nurse will let them know when they can stop in and visit you. Briefly."

When he finished his work, Dr. Leetch shook Charlie's hand again. "I do hope you find out who killed that poor girl."

----------------------------

A few minutes later, Dr. Leetch entered Don's room. Don's head had started pounding, and though he wouldn't admit it to Charlie or any of the others, he had started to feel dizzy. So he wasn't surprised when Dr. Leetch said, "Captain Eppes, well, you're not as bad off as you're brother, but you do have a concussion. We're going to have to keep you overnight for observation. The good news is we've got a bed ready for you right beside your brother's bed."

Don grinned. "He snores."

Dr. Leetch chuckled. "Unfortunately we don't have the type of accommodation you Americans have in your hospitals. I'm afraid we'll be putting you in a ward."

Don's mouth quirked in a grin. "I'm sure the accommodations will be just fine. Thank you, Doctor. You mentioned my brother. How's Charlie doing?"

"Already comfortably settled in his bed in the ward, I trust. He also has a concussion, along with cracked ribs, a broken nose, and assorted bumps and bruises." Dr. Leetch stood. "If all goes well, the physician on staff in the morning will send you and your brother on your way." He reached out to shake hands with Don. "It's been a pleasure meeting you, Captain Eppes. As I mentioned to your brother, I do hope you find out who killed that poor girl."

Don stood and shook hands with the doctor. "Oh, we will." He rubbed the bump on the back of his head gingerly. "I think Charlie and I both had run-ins with her assailants."

Dr. Leetch's mouth twitched. "In that case, you're doubly motivated. Good evening."

A few moments later, the door opened again, admitting an older woman in what appeared to Don to be a nun's habit. "Captain Eppes?" she said, "I'm the ward sister. You'll need to change into these pajamas, then I'll show you to your bed."

When Don had changed, he opened the exam room door and looked around for the sister. She led him to a large, open room with a high ceiling and large windows. She reached a bed and turned down the blankets for Don. But his attention was drawn to the next bed over. Charlie lay on his side, his mouth open, snoring softly. His eyes were puffy and blackened, and he now had several strips of adhesive tape across the bridge of his nose. Don bent down and said, "Hey, Buddy, I thought you had too much work to do to spend the night here."

"Hmmm? Wha?" Charlie's eyes sprang open. He smiled crookedly as he noticed Don's hospital pajamas. "They got you too, huh?"

"Yep. Have the others been in here yet to visit you?"

Charlie's eyes were already drifting shut, "Not that I noticed."

"Don't worry about it, Buddy. Go back to sleep. Sorry I woke you up."

"'s'okay," Charlie murmured. "I wasn't sleepin' anyway. Jus' restin' my eyes."

"Sure you were," Don said as he sat on the edge of his own bed. He noticed some activity near the door and looked over to see a nurse leading Sam, Anna and Larry across the room. He mustered a smile. "Hi."

Sam grinned. "Not exactly the height of fashion."

"You got that right." Don patted the mattress beside him. "Have a seat?"

"No, I'm afraid not. I'm going to take Anna and Larry back to the inn. We just wanted to see you two before we left."

Anna sat on the edge of Charlie's bed. He stirred and opened his eyes. She touched his cheek gently. "Charlie, you poor thing."

"'m fine," Charlie muttered, "jus' need a little sleep."

"Sure," Anna said. She pulled the blanket up over Charlie's shoulders and leaned down to kiss his cheek. "Well, I'll leave you to it." By the time she was back on her feet, Charlie was asleep.

Larry stood silently for a moment, watching Anna and Charlie. He turned to Don. "I should have gone with him. Instead I was caught up in my own work."

"Larry, you can't blame yourself. You couldn't have done that much to help anyway."

Larry's voice rose. "I'm not helpless."

"No. I'm sure you're not. But three thugs against two professors? What would you have hoped to accomplish?"

Larry shook his head and started toward the door. "I don't know. Perhaps to feel a little less guilty right now."

"Larry," Don called softly, "he'll be fine. We'll both be out of here in the morning."

Larry nodded and left.

"Sam?" Don said, "Could you try to talk some sense into him?"

"I'll try. I've been told I'm not that good at that sort of thing, but I'll give it my best." Sam paused, then bent and kissed Don on the forehead. "Do take care of yourself. I'll see you in the morning."

--------------------------

Several hours later, Don woke to someone shaking his arm and whispering his name. He squinted into the dim light. "Granger?"

"Yeah. Sorry to wake you up, but you made it sound urgent."

Don struggled to sit up, rubbing his eyes. "It is. Listen, we can't talk here. Let's see if we can find someplace private."

"You sure you're okay to walk?"

"Yeah. It's just a concussion. Where's my robe?" He fumbled with his blankets until he found the flimsy robe. "Okay. Let's go."

"Where you goin'?" Charlie murmured. "Hey, hi, Colby. How you doin'?"

"Better than you, Professor. We're just looking for someplace private so Captain… " he stopped as Don raised an eyebrow at him. "er… Don can fill me in on what's going on."

Charlie sat up with a groan. "There's a linen closet over there. I saw the nurse go in there to get Don's outfit. It's pretty big. The closet, not the outfit."

"Here Professor, let me give you a hand," Colby helped Charlie to his feet. "I'm assuming you don't want to be left out of this discussion."

"Good assumption. What time is it anyway?" Charlie stood unsteadily.

"Nearly four in the morning. It's not that easy driving during a blackout," Colby said. "I would have been here sooner, but I made a few wrong turns."

Charlie shivered and picked up his blanket. Wrapping himself in it, he said, "I can't wait to get home to California."

Don chuckled and grabbed his own blanket. "Good idea." He shuddered as he wrapped himself in the blanket. "Let's go before the nurses find us."

Colby tried the linen closet door. It was unlocked. He turned on the light and peered inside. There were half a dozen folding chairs leaning against the wall in the back corner. Colby set up three chairs as Don closed the door behind them. "Perfect meeting room," he said as they sat.

After Don and Charlie had filled Colby in on the events of the past few days, Colby said, "So Foyle called the Home Office? Did he say who would be coming?"

"No, he didn't," Don said. "Why?"

Colby shrugged. "If they send someone we know, things might go more smoothly. So, what's the plan?"

"A couple more hours sleep," Don said, "or the doctor won't let us out of here. In the morning, we'll take you to meet Christopher Foyle. And maybe find out who the Home office is sending. Why don't you go to the White Feather? If they're booked up, you can use my room." He reached for his non-existent pocket. "Uh, I have the key somewhere."

"That's okay. I'll just spend the night here."

"In the linen closet?" Charlie asked.

"Nah. There are some empty beds in your ward. I'll just sack out there. That way I'll be here with the car in the morning." He noticed Don and Charlie's expressions. "Don't worry. I'll explain the situation to the nurse. I'm sure she'll let me use a bed for a few hours."

"You'd better," Don said. "I don't want them to take you away for surgery while you're sleeping."


	20. Chapter 20

Don awoke some time later to the sounds of rattling carts and hospital staff moving about in the ward. He rolled onto his side hoping to get a little more sleep before discharge. Instead he ended up looking at Charlie. He resisted the urge to wake his younger brother up. Let him get his sleep while he can. Things were going to start moving quickly once they got cleared to leave the hospital. He sat up slowly and looked around the ward.

Colby was awake two beds down from Charlie, but, like a typical soldier, never wasted the opportunity to rest when he could. Colby noticed Don watching him and grinned and waved.

Don waved back to his junior officer. He decided to lie back down again and wait for the doctor. As he was pondering the work ahead of them, a nurse approached. "Captain Eppes?" she said softly.

"Yes?" Don sat up.

"Good morning. I'm Edith Milner, Paul's wife. He told me you and your brother had a bit of a scuffle last night and were here. I thought I'd stop by and say hello before you're discharged."

Don smiled. "It's nice to meet you, Mrs. Milner. I apologize for not standing … ."

Edith laughed, a pleasant sound. "Please, call me Edith. And don't worry about not standing. I don't believe standard etiquette applies in a hospital ward. How are you feeling this morning? No headaches, nausea?"

"No. No headaches or nausea. I've been better though," Don said, "but I've been a lot worse too."

"You Yanks are a tough lot, aren't you?"

Don laughed. "From what I've seen of you Brits, you're not so bad yourselves. Like Paul. He seems to get along pretty well considering his injury."

Edith beamed. "He does. He's quiet about it, but he's a very strong man."

"Did you meet him here, in the hospital?"

"Oh, no. We were friends as children. We were in school together. Afterwards, we went our separate ways, and he and Jane married. His first wife." She scowled at the mention of her name. "She couldn't deal with his injury, and left him."

"I'm sorry … ."

"Oh, I'm not. Her loss was my gain as they say. We reconnected when my brother got into a spot of trouble. Paul helped to clear him of a crime he didn't commit. He's a very good detective." She glanced at Charlie. "Is that your brother?"

"Yes it is. I decided to let him sleep a little longer. It's been a pretty rough couple of days. For both us, mostly him though."

Edith laughed again. "Clearly. Well, I won't wake him then. Tell him I said hello, will you? I see the doctor is on his way, so I'll get back to my duties. It was nice meeting you, Captain Eppes."

"It's Don. And it was great meeting you too, Edith."

The elderly doctor smiled and nodded as he passed Edith. "Dr. Eppes?"

"Uh, no," Don said. "I'm Captain Don Eppes. That," he pointed to Charlie, "Is Dr. Charles Eppes."

"Ah, either way. I'm Dr. Mason, and I'm here to check the two of you out, give you a clean bill of health and send you on your way."

Don grinned. "Sounds great to me. Hey, Charlie! Wake up! The doc here is going to spring us."

Charlie sat up and stretched. "Morning."

Dr. Mason checked the brothers quickly, then said, "I'll have your clothes brought around. You can change in the loo over there." He waved in the direction of a restroom. "You're clear to leave, but I'm afraid I must insist that you take it easy for the next few days."

Don and Charlie exchanged glances. "We'll try," Charlie said. "But I can't promise anything."

Dr. Mason grinned and shook his head. "I suppose that's all I can ask. Take care!" The doctor gave them a quick wave and went on to his next patient.

A few moments later, Edith returned with their clothes. "Your other effects are in the stands next to your beds."

"Thank you," Don said. "Charlie, this is Edith Milner, Paul's wife."

Charlie stood shakily and shook hands with Edith. "Nice to meet you, Mrs. Milner."

Don headed toward the restroom. "I'm going first if you don't mind, Buddy."

"I don't mind at all." He eased himself back down to sit on the edge of the bed.

"Can I get you anything, Dr. Eppes?" Edith asked.

"It's Charlie, and no thanks. I'm doing fine." He opened the drawer of the bedside cabinet and pulled out his pocket watch. "If we hurry we'll make it in time for breakfast back at the inn."

"What? You're not planning on enjoying the fine hospital cuisine?"

"Not if I can help it," Charlie grinned.

"In that case, if you don't want to wait for your brother, there's a second loo down the hall," Edith suggested.

"Thanks." Charlie stood and slowly headed off in the direction Edith indicated.

Colby looked up from making his bed. "You need a hand, Professor?"

"I can make it, Colby. Oh, Mrs. Milner, this is Lieutenant Colby Granger. He works with my brother."

"Lieutenant Granger," Edith said, "you don't have to do that."

Colby grinned at Edith. "Call me Colby, Ma'am. Between my mom and my drill sergeant, I can't leave a bed unmade."

"You'll make some girl a fine husband one of these days, Colby," Edith laughed as she walked away.

---------------------

Charlie climbed into the back seat of the jeep Colby had commandeered. "I'm afraid it's nothing special, but it runs," Colby said. When Don was settled in the passenger's seat, Colby said, "Where to, Sir?" Don just shook his head muttering something about 'old habits.'

"Let's go back to the White Feather," Charlie suggested. "We can still get breakfast … ."

Don checked his watch. "Foyle is probably waiting for us."

"But Larry and Anna would be upset if we didn't bring them along," Charlie suggested hopefully. "They were instrumental in solving the code."

Don finally chuckled. "You just want to see Anna. Okay. You win. Granger, turn left on the High Street."

-----------------------

The attack on Larry's friends had unsettled him to the point that he tossed and turned for a couple of hours before giving up on the concept of sleep. He tried to focus on his work for Turing, but found his mind wandering back to the hospital where he had left Charlie and Don. Finally, he grabbed a stack of journal articles and headed down to the dining room. He looked around, and not seeing anyone he knew, sat at a table by himself and spread out his papers. When the waitress arrived, he ordered a pot of tea and the full English breakfast. He checked his pocket watch. It would be a while before he could reasonably telephone Foyle's office.

He was still staring at the first paragraph of the first article when the waitress returned with his breakfast. "Will there be anything else, Sir?"

"Hmm? Oh. No, thank you." When the waitress left, he poured a cup of tea and looked at the full plate of food, wondering what had possessed him to order so much to eat.

He picked up his fork and prodded the black pudding dubiously. "Larry?" he jumped at the sound of Anna's voice above him.

"Anna!" he jumped to his feet. "I'm sorry. I didn't notice you. Have you heard anything about Don and Charles?"

Anna chuckled. "No. Nothing. I take it you haven't either."

"I'm afraid not. Where are my manners? Please, have a seat. Have you eaten?"

Anna sat. "Thanks. I haven't. I take it you couldn't sleep either."

"Maybe we should go to the hospital. I wonder how long it would take to walk there from here."

Anna hailed the waitress. "Why don't we wait for them to contact us? I'd hate to get there and find out they've already been discharged."

"Excellent point. So we just wait?"

"Well, we can eat our breakfasts." She nodded at his plate. "Why don't you start before it gets cold?" When the waitress arrived, Anna ordered coffee and oatmeal. "I'm not really that hungry," she told Larry.

"You look tired," Larry said as he sipped his tea.

"Gee, what a way to make a lady feel good," Anna teased. "You look like you've had a rough night yourself. Listen, don't worry. I'm sure they'll be fine. I mean, they're young, they're healthy."

"True, but young healthy people are dying every day in this war."

"Larry," Anna put her hand on his arm, "if it'll make you feel better, I'll call the hospital."

"You don't need to …," Larry said, but his expression said something completely different.

"Stay put. I'll be right back." Anna stood and went to the lobby.

Larry obeyed her, but couldn't stop watching the doorway to the lobby.

A moment later, she returned, grinning broadly, followed by Don, Charlie, and Colby Granger. "Look what I found."

Larry stood. "You're back! They let you out? And, Lieutenant, when did you arrive?"

"About four this morning," Colby answered. "And, yeah, I didn't break these guys out. The doctor actually released them."

"We thought we'd pick you two up before we went to the police station," Charlie said.

"And Charlie was hungry for breakfast," Don added.

"Don't tell me you weren't hungry," Charlie said with a scowl. As he took a seat next to Anna, he rubbed at a blood stain on the front of his white shirt. "I think we'd better change our clothes too, Don. We don't want to meet the Home Office folks looking like bums."

Anna grimaced and pulled Charlie's hand away from the stain. "You don't look like bums," Anna objected. "You look like you should be back in the hospital not tracking down Nazi conspirators. Look at you. Both of you. You're a mass of bruises. You look like Max Schmeling after Joe Louis finished with him."

"Wrong side, Anna," Don said. "We're not exactly Aryans. Charlie, you make a good point. We'll change clothes after we eat."

The three newcomers ordered breakfast, and the waitress filled their coffee cups. "I'll bring another pot of tea," she said before she went back to the kitchen.

Anna freshened her tea then turned to Colby. "So, Lieutenant Granger, I understand you and Don have done some interesting work together."

"Anna …," Don warned. "What did I tell you?"

"Sorry," Anna said, her hands up as if surrendering. "How about this? So, Lieutenant Granger, whereabouts are you from?"

Colby looked up from his coffee. "I'm from Idaho originally, Ma'am. But I've been doing a bit of traveling lately, thanks to the Army."

"Haven't we all?" Anna said with a sigh.

"I'm sorry to hear about your friend," Colby said softly. "The Captain … uh … Don and I signed up knowing we could be putting our lives on the line, but civilians … that just stinks."

The waitress returned with their meals. "Can I get you folks anything else?"

"Thanks," Don said. "Do you think you could leave a pot of coffee here?"

"Of course, Sir. I'll be back in just a moment."

"Good idea," Charlie said, "I think we're going to need all the caffeine we can get. Larry, you don't look like you got any sleep last night either."

"I'm afraid not. It's amazing how stress can affect the human body. I knew I needed sleep. My body was demanding it, and yet I wasn't able to relax enough to sleep. You know, Charles, that Dr. Selye borrowed the term 'stress' from physics to describe the effect life changes have on the human mind and body."

"I was not aware of that," Charlie said around a mouthful of bubble and squeak. "Larry, eat your breakfast before it gets cold and gives you even more stress."

"Very funny, Charles," Larry said before taking a bite of his breakfast. "Too late. It's already cold. But I believe I can handle it."

-------------------

After breakfast, Don and Charlie went to their rooms to change. When they returned, Don was back in uniform and Charlie was in something that didn't look like he slept in it.

"That's more like it," Anna said, "now you look like someone the Home Office might take seriously."

The five Americans piled into Colby's jeep. "Sorry I didn't find anything more comfortable, Ma'am" Colby said as he took Anna's hand to help her into the back seat.

"Beggars can't be choosers," Anna said cheerfully. "I'm just glad we don't have to walk after that huge breakfast." She scooted over and made room for Charlie next to her. Once he was settled, she touched his cheek. "Are you feeling okay? Did you get any sleep?"

"I don't even remember hitting the bed," Charlie said, shaking his head.

"Do you remember me coming to see you?"

"Of course. How could I forget?"

"Liar," Anna said.

"You sat on the edge of my bed, called me a 'poor thing,' covered me with the blanket and kissed me on the cheek," Charlie said with a smug smile.

"You do remember! Unless Don told you about it this morning."

"You wound me! And, no, Don didn't tell me. Did you, Don?"

"I didn't tell him, Anna. All our lives, people have been telling us that Charlie here has this great big genius brain. Until this moment, I just thought it was full of math. That kiss on the cheek must have been pretty memorable."

"I would hope so," Anna said, leaning over and giving Charlie a second kiss on the cheek.

"Another memorable moment," Don chuckled. "That's, what, the second time you've been kissed by a woman who is not Mom or Aunt Irene, Chuck?".

"Here we are!" Colby interrupted the brotherly banter as he pulled up in front of the police station.

Sergeant Brooke looked up from his paperwork as the group entered. "Good morning. Captain Eppes, Mr. Foyle asked me to send you into 'is office."

"Thanks, Sergeant," Don said. "Have the people from the Home Office arrived yet?"

Brooke rolled his eyes. "They were sittin' on the doorstep when I arrived this mornin'. They were none too pleased that we didn't 'ave the red carpet rolled out for 'em, I'll tell you that."

Don laughed. "Bureaucrats are the same on both sides of the pond." He led the way to Foyle's office and knocked on the door.

"Come in," Foyle called.

Don opened the door and studied the group around Foyle's desk. Milner stood near the door. Foyle was behind the desk. A British colonel sat across from him, flanked by a scowling civilian and a gaunt woman in tweeds. The three turned at the sound of the door, and Don and Colby saluted the colonel, who returned their salutes smartly. At the sight of the woman, Don burst into a grin. "Hilda!"

Hilda Pierce gave Don a subdued smile. "Captain Eppes. Lieutenant Granger. How nice to see you again."

Foyle raised his eyebrows. "Why am I not surprised you know each other?"


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter 21

Sgt. Brooke came up behind the Americans, carrying a chair in each hand. He glanced around the room. "Here we go. Everyone 'as a seat now. Mr. Foyle, will there be anything else?"

"I think we're fine for now. Thank you."

After the Americans were seated, Foyle began the introductions, nodding at each individual as he introduced them. "Colonel James Bradbury, commander of the King's Guard Regiment of the British Army; Mr. Colin Morse, from Home Office; Miss Hilda Pierce, from Special Operations Executive; Captain Don Eppes, United States Army, assigned to the OSS; Doctors Charles Eppes and Lawrence Fleinhardt, from the California Institute of Science, on loan to the Code and Cipher School; and Miss Anna Buonaroti, newspaper reporter, who worked together to decipher the message." He glanced at Colby. "I'm afraid I don't know this gentleman."

Don said, "This is Lieutenant Colby Granger. He's also assigned to the OSS with me. We've both worked with Miss Pierce's agency with great success, I might add."

Hilda agreed, "Very great success." She turned to Charlie. "Professor Eppes, Professor Fleinhardt, your work with the Code and Cipher School is groundbreaking. I'm grateful Dr. Turing was willing to let us borrow you."

"Thank you, Miss Pierce," Charlie said. "Though I'm sure our government put more than a little pressure on Dr. Turing to release us to help out here."

Hilda laughed. "I'm almost certain they did."

Morse cleared his throat. "Excuse me, but you can catch up on old times later," he said quite tersely. "I'm afraid we're rather under the gun here with no time for idle frivolity. I trust everyone in this room has the highest level of clearance," he scowled at Anna. "Miss … uh … Bonacardi?"

"Buonaroti," Anna corrected. "My clearance is that my best friend was murdered and the coded message was found in her shoe. If you want me out of this room, you're going to have to drag me." Narrowing her eyes at the diminutive bureaucrat, she added, "I doubt you're up to the task." She turned away from him, and muttered, "Pompous twit."

Charlie, who was sitting next to Anna, covered his chuckle with a cough. Don grinned, but was able to stifle it quickly.

Morse shook his head, then turned to Foyle. "Chief Superintendent, I'm going to have to insist that Miss Buonaroti be excluded from our meetings. She does not have the necessary clearance."

Charlie put his hand on Anna's shoulder, halting any comment from her. "Miss Buonaroti was instrumental in deciphering the message and she already knows its content in full. I'm going to have to insist that she remain."

"Fine, fine, let her stay," the colonel growled. "Let's get down to brass tacks, shall we? A member of the royal family is in danger. There's no time to quibble about clearances. Mr. Foyle," he continued, "the kidnapping was planned to take place on the first of June, am I correct?"

"You are," Foyle said.

"That is only six days from today," Morse said. "We need to move Princess Elizabeth to safety. She must not report for her assignment in Camberley."

The colonel shook his head. "Not a good idea, Morse. We'd spook the kidnappers and lose our opportunity to catch them."

"Are you insane? You want to use the princess as bait? " Morse's voice squeaked on the last word.

"What do you take me for, man? Of course we wouldn't use her as bait. I'm merely saying that whatever we do, we can't let the kidnappers know we've caught on to what they're doing. We need to make it appear that the princess is continuing with her scheduled commitments."

"The kidnappers are not stupid, Morse," Hilda said. "The royal family has not been secretive about their movements. They take every opportunity to boost the morale of their subjects by remaining in the public eye. The Princess must do everything as planned, including making the journey to Camberley."

"Miss Pierce, I'm afraid you've gone stark raving mad," Morse blustered. "The King will never agree to that."

"The only other option would be to frighten off the kidnappers and leave the royal family at risk of further machinations from them."

"Excuse me," Charlie said, interrupting the brewing squabble, "where is the princess now?"

"She's in Windsor Palace with the rest of the royal family," Morse said. "They refused to send the children to Canada, but at least they've made the sensible decision to spend the nights in Windsor instead of Buckingham Palace."

"When is she planning on leaving for Camberley?" Charlie asked.

"Early in the morning of the first. Camberley is only about twelve miles from Windsor. Why?" Morse asked.

"Well, we know at least some of the people plotting the kidnapping are here in Hastings. We know they're awaiting another message. How far are we from Camberley?"

"I'd say two and a half hours at the most," the colonel replied.

"So it's feasible that we could catch the kidnappers before the princess even leaves the palace," Don said.

"It sounds terribly risky to me," Morse objected.

"Listen," Don said, "if something goes wrong on this end, we'll have enough time to cancel the princess's trip if we need to."

"I still don't like it," Morse said. "I will make my recommendations to the Home Secretary, and you may rest assured that I will not recommend your risky scheme."

"Wait!" Hilda said in a tone of voice that silenced Morse immediately. "We don't need to put the princess at risk. We could use a decoy. The princess will be seen leaving Windsor Castle, and we can divert the princess to a safe location and replace her with someone else on the way to Camberley. Once the coast is clear in Camberley, the princess can then continue on her way."

"I like it," Don said.

Morse started to object, when Foyle interrupted. "Mr. Morse, I think the plan makes a great deal of sense." He turned back to Charlie. "Professor, your idea is to continue the investigation of the murder and assaults, correct?"

"That's right. If we assume that Miss Levine was killed because she discovered the encrypted message, and that my brother and I were attacked because we were involved in trying to decipher the message, then it makes perfect sense that the people involved in those attacks would also be involved in the plot to kidnap the princess."

Foyle nodded. "So you suggest finding and arresting them here?"

"Not necessarily," Charlie said. "That would work if we were absolutely certain that we could capture the whole gang here. But, if we miss even one conspirator, the princess could still be in danger. I think the best thing would be to identify as many of them as we can, follow them to Camberley, and stop the plot when it unfolds."

Foyle glanced at he assembled group. All, but Morse nodded. "All right, Dr. Eppes," Foyle said, "where do you suggest we start?"

"We need to pool all of the information we have: Miss Pierce's information about the European end of things, your information about the murder of Miss Levine, the information Don and I have about the men who attacked us." He glanced at Anna. "And Miss Buonaroti's information about Miss Levine's movements before she was killed. We'll be able to make connections between what may at first look like unrelated bits and pieces."

Morse shifted uneasily in his chair. "I don't suppose it will hurt to try it your way, as long as you leave us enough time to change the princess's plans."

"I'm glad you're on board," Don said, stifling a smirk. He turned to the colonel. "She'll have regular security, I assume, Sir."

"Yes, she does. Our standard complement for each princess. The actual number of men on security detail is considered classified."

"Can you improve her security without being too obvious about it?" Don asked.

The colonel nodded. "We do routinely change up the princesses' security details to keep the Jerries guessing, you know. I could easily add another one or two visible men without arousing suspicion and add a few more hidden in plain sight. Any more than that would be asking for trouble. I'll also replace some of the men with more senior personnel and brief them on the threat."

"All right, then," Charlie picked up the pad of paper, "Let's start pooling our resources." He looked around the room. "Who wants to start?"

Foyle leaned forward, elbows on his desk. "As you know, we have been investigating the murder of Sharon Levine, an American photographer. Miss Buonaroti and Miss Levine were here to produce a series of articles about the effects of the war in England. They chose Hastings because of its proximity to Europe and because Miss Levine had relatives in this area. Unfortunately, Miss Levine's relatives were less than anxious to renew acquaintances with the Jewish side of the family."

"Who are those relatives?" Hilda asked.

"Her maternal grandparents, Sir Walter St. James and his wife Lady Charlotte. Their daughter Penelope married Jacob Levine, an American. Miss Levine attempted to visit Sir Walter and was told in no uncertain terms that she was not welcome. Sir Walter and Lady Charlotte have two daughters and two granddaughters. The other granddaughter, Susan Berry, … ."

"Works for the Code and Cipher School, yes, I know." Hilda finished with a nod. She turned to Charlie and Larry. "Do you gentlemen know her?"

Charlie's face reddened. "We do. I can't see how she could possibly be involved in this. She obviously passed the rigorous investigation to be given a position in a secure facility."

"Oh, she did, all right," Hilda said with a lift of her eyebrow.

"Do you know her?" Don asked Hilda.

Hilda ignored Don's question and turned back to Foyle. "Are you certain that Walter and Charlotte St. James were not involved in the death of their estranged granddaughter?"

"I am not, but I felt there was no point in antagonizing them until we had more evidence. Do you have information that would be useful in my inquiries?"

"Perhaps. But as is usual in my line of work, little of it would stand up in a court of law. You'll need to use anything I tell you only to assist in your own inquiries." She glanced around the room. "We have been investigating a German civilian, or more correctly, we are currently assuming this person is a civilian, who has been in contact with British civilians here in the southeast coast. The note that was found in Miss Levine's shoe was encrypted using the same technique used in other communications we have discovered and translated."

"Why were we not informed?" Morse asked.

"The Home Office was informed. I have no control over what they do with the information we provide. You might want to ask your superiors why they did not see fit to tell you about this. Now, if I may continue, this German was very careful in his communications. Never specifically stating much of anything that would give away too much information in the messages. Even after we deciphered the messages, we were still pretty much in the dark as to what they were planning. We have yet to determine how the recipient knows the keywords to use to decrypt the messages. Each message we discovered had a different keyword."

"When did you intercept the last message?" Charlie asked.

"Three weeks ago. Why?"

"Our message gave the place of the next drop. Did your last message give any locations? That might help Mr. Foyle determine how Miss Levine had the message in her possession."

Hilda picked up a folder from Foyle's desk and leafed through the papers. "Here we are. The next drop, according to this missive, was to be in the Blue Dolphin." She glanced at Foyle. "That's where you found Miss Levine, isn't it?"

"It is. Interesting." Foyle picked up his notes. "The pub was bombed before she was murdered. I wonder what led her to wander into a bombed out pub. Miss Buonaroti, you said that the last time you saw Miss Levine, she was excited. She had found out something, right?"

"That's right," Anna said, "but she didn't say what it was."

"Where was she before she told you that?"

"I don't know. I was in our room at the White Feather, writing, when she came in, all excited."

"You said she grabbed her cameras and left, so she didn't have them with her earlier that day, correct?" Foyle said. "And you don't have any idea where she might have been?"

Anna closed her eyes and pondered. "She had one of those big envelopes with her. The kind she put her pictures in."

"That's good," Don said, "she was probably coming from the newspaper office, then, right?"

Anna opened her eyes and nodded. "Yeah. She would take her cameras to the newspaper, do her developing there, and then I guess the pictures had to dry before she could take them. So she'd go back later that day, or sometimes even the next day, and pick up her pictures."

"And that brings us back to Simon Baker, the newspaper photographer who's gone missing," Foyle said.

"Missing?" the colonel straightened in his seat. "Do you have men looking for him?"

Foyle nodded, chewing his lip thoughtfully. "Yes, we do. Milner," he glanced over at his sergeant, "why don't you check and see how that's going?"

"Yes, Sir," Milner opened the door and left the office.

"Captain Eppes caught a glimpse of what we believe was one of Miss Levine's missing cameras when we interviewed Baker. Unfortunately, he didn't realize at the time that it could have been one of her cameras. There was an identifying mark on the camera that the captain saw, but didn't know its significance until after we had returned here and he had asked about her other equipment. Identical markings were on all of the equipment we had recovered from the scene. When we returned to Baker's office later that day, he was gone. He had left unexpectedly. We went to his home that he shares with his elderly mother. She told us he was supposed pick her up to take her somewhere, but never came home. So, Baker is currently in the wind. Hopefully, for not much longer."

"Simon Baker, you say?" Hilda consulted her notes. "One of the messages we intercepted was addressed to SB."

"This is clearly beyond the capabilities of your department, Mr. Foyle," Morse said, gesturing at Foyle's phone. "I suggest you call Assistant Commissioner Parkins and get some more men down here. Now!"

"For a suggestion, that sounds rather like an order," Hilda said with a wry smile.

Foyle shrugged and left the telephone where it was. "I notified Mr. Parkins before I notified you, Mr. Morse. He should be arriving any time now. Miss Pierce, what were the contents of the other messages you intercepted? Were they related to this kidnap plot?"

"They were not," Hilda said, pulling out a few sheets of paper. "This first one was an attempt to establish radio contact. The second was an angry reminder that it was urgent to establish contact, that the physical delivery of coded messages was increasingly dangerous." She glanced at the colonel. "A reflection of the effectiveness of our military. Other messages were less specific. They asked the traitors here to help recruit others to the cause. No names were mentioned."

"How do they deliver the messages?" Larry asked. "I assume it would be very difficult to breach the coastal defenses."

The colonel sighed. "We've made it as difficult as we could, but there's a great deal of coastline to defend; unfortunately we can't have people guarding every inch. And sadly, not all British subjects support the defeat of Hitler."

Don and Charlie exchanged glances. "We know," Charlie said. "May I see the messages?"

"Of course. Here are the encrypted messages, and the translations, including the keyword," Hilda handed him the messages. She raised her eyebrows as he pulled out his fountain pen. "Oh, Professor, these are the originals, so please be careful with them."

"Oh … of course … uh … certainly," Charlie stammered, putting the pen back into his shirt pocket. "I just wanted to see if the handwriting was similar to our message. Mr. Foyle, do you have the original of our message?"

Morse shook his head as Foyle handed Charlie the paper. "Don't tell me you're a handwriting expert as well, Dr. Eppes."

Charlie laid all the messages on the desk. "No, but it doesn't take an expert to see the similarities. They were definitely written by a German. The same person, in fact."

"How can you tell that?" Morse asked.

"Here, look at the 'x'. English and American penmanship crosses the two diagonals. Germans make two semi-circles that bump up against each other. Their 'x' looks more like a fancy 'h'. Plus, if you look at the loops and swoops, you can see they are all identical, across all these messages."

"And exactly how does that help the princess?"

Charlie shrugged, wincing at the twinge of pain the movement brought. "I don't know. But I tend to believe that the more information you have, the better."

Larry pulled his chair closer to the desk to look at the messages. His eyes widened as he continued to look at the decoded messages. "I think I know how they knew the keyword to use."

"Really?" Hilda and Charlie asked in unison.

"These messages are in the order they were received, correct?"

"Correct," Hilda said.

"Look," Larry pointed to the first message. "Here the sender tells the recipient to contact Falcon if they need help. The second message used the keyword 'falcon.'"

"And the second message mentions Hastings, and the third message was decoded with the keyword 'hastings,'" Charlie added.

"And here's 'Hitler' mentioned in the message that preceded our message," Larry said. "So I think it's fair to assume that the message dropped at the White Feather will be deciphered using the keyword 'kestrel."

"Excellent!" Hilda said. "That will save us a great deal of time."

Milner knocked and opened the door. "Sir," he addressed Foyle, "we've established that Simon Baker has a brother in Eastbourne. I've contacted the Eastbourne police and they are on their way to visit the brother now. They'll call when they know anything. I've told Sergeant Brooke to come get me if they call while we're meeting."

"Thank you," Foyle said, as Milner took up his post next to the door. "Now, shall we move on to the assaults? We've identified two of the six assailants. Unfortunately, Captain Eppes didn't see his assailants." He glanced at Don. "Now that you've recovered somewhat from your attack, do you remember anything useful about your attackers? A voice? Anything?"

Don considered briefly, then shook his head. "Nothing more than I told you last night. I will let you know if I remember anything."

"Thank you. We do know Dr. Eppes was attacked by Mick Duffy, Red Lewis and another man we haven't identified yet." He stopped and looked up at Charlie. "The third man. You said he was about five foot nine inches and had blond hair, correct?"

"That's right."

Foyle flipped through the folder. "Could this have been him?" He handed Charlie a photo.

Charlie studied the picture, then nodded slowly. "Yes, I believe that's him. Who is he?"

"That's our missing photographer, Simon Baker."

"SB," Hilda said softly.

"Hilda," Don said softly, "do you know anything about these three?"

Hilda smiled enigmatically. "I'm assigned to work in Europe, not here." She grew serious. "I would tell you if I knew anything.

Foyle's lips twitched. "To be honest, Miss Pierce, I have found you less than forthcoming in our previous encounters."

Colby chuckled. "I think he knows you pretty well, Miss Pierce."

Hilda shook her head. "Lt. Granger, I'm sure Mr. Foyle understands that I couldn't cooperate fully in those instances. However, this time we're on the same team, working toward the same goal. Short of giving you the names of our operatives, or specifics as to their locations, I will be completely forthcoming."

Foyle had opened his mouth to respond when Sergeant Brooke knocked once and opened the door.

"Mr. Milner, DCS Dalgleish of Eastbourne is on the telephone for you. 'E says 'e's got your man."


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter 22

"Wait," Charlie said, as Milner started to follow Sergeant Brooke. "You need to be careful how you handle this. You don't want to let Baker know that we know about the kidnapping plot."

Milner stopped and turned to Foyle. "Sir?"

"Tell DCS Dalgleish that we just want to ask Mr. Baker a few questions about an American photographer. Tell him we think she may have been a spy."

"What?!" Anna jumped to her feet. "Sharon was not a spy!"

Charlie took Anna's hand. "Anna, please, sit down. He's just employing classic misdirection. If Baker thinks we're on to him, he may try to run again and this time warn the others. This way, Baker will think he can help mislead the police. Personally, I don't think he's the sharpest tool in the shed, so he may buy the whole story."

"I'm sorry, Miss Buonaroti," Foyle said, "I should have warned you." He turned back to Milner. "Have Sam drive you over to Eastbourne so you can have a talk with Mr. Baker."

"Wait," Charlie said again as Milner and Brooke reached the doorway. "I'm sorry," he said to Foyle, "but since the story is going to be that an American might be a spy, don't you think we should have Don go along, since he is the senior American officer here, to talk to Baker? I think it would be natural for the United States Army to be involved with a supposed case of espionage."

Foyle glanced at Don and stifled a smile. "I think that's an excellent idea. Captain Eppes, would you mind accompanying Sergeant Milner and Miss Stewart to Eastbourne?"

"Not at all," Don said, standing. "I think that's a great idea. Thanks, Buddy," he said to Charlie. "See you later. Colby, you stay here in Hastings in case Mr. Foyle needs your help with anything."

When the door closed behind the three men, Foyle said, "Back to where we left off. Miss Pierce, do you know anything about our three suspects?"

"No. I'm afraid not. But I may be able to cast some light on the way these groups operate. Would that be helpful?"

"We'll see," Foyle said. "What do you have in mind?"

"I'm thinking about how the messages were brought here. Have you had any reports of incursions along the coastline?"

"Not recently."

"And, of course, all German nationals have been moved inland or put in camps."

"Of course," Foyle agreed.

"Hastings is a pretty little city, on the coast, with some places of interest to tourists. Have you seen any foreigners here?" She smiled as she glanced at Charlie. "Present company excepted, of course."

"There was a Spaniard here two months ago. He hired a couple of local boys to perform acts of sabotage." Foyle's lips tightened as he scowled at Morse. "He had diplomatic immunity, so we weren't able to do anything to him. But, fortunately he's gone now. I don't know of any others. They may be here, but just not causing trouble. I'll have my men canvass the local hotels and inns. Without making a fuss, of course."

"We can ask Mrs. Weeks at the White Feather," Charlie offered. "But I thought travel was restricted."

"Oh, it is," Morse said, "but we do permit diplomats and select businessmen from Sweden, Switzerland, Spain and Portugal. The rest of Europe is, of course, occupied by the Nazis, and we wouldn't permit anyone from those countries to come here."

"Except as refugees," Larry said. "Though I would imagine the travel of refugees is even more restricted."

The colonel slapped his hands on his thighs, showing his impatience to this line in the discussion. "Well, then, have we done enough talking? Are we ready to start tracking these blighters down?"

"I think we are," Foyle said. "Unless anyone else has any information they'd like to share? Or any questions? Mr. Morse? Are you satisfied?"

Morse took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. "I suppose it'll have to be at this point. Though you may be certain I will put a stop to the investigation or whatever you want to call it if it looks like the princess is in any danger at all."

"I would expect nothing less." Foyle stood. "Thank you all for coming."

"Thank you for having us," the colonel said, standing and shaking Foyle's hand. "I think Morse and I are staying in town for the time being, aren't we, Morse?"

"I think that's wise," Morse said. "We do need to make sure things are going well. I took the liberty of reserving rooms at the hotel across the street."

"An excellent choice," Foyle said.

"Do you have anything you'd like us to do?" Charlie asked.

"I don't think so, at least for the moment," Foyle said. "Thank you so much for your assistance. We wouldn't have even known about this plot if it weren't for you."

"You're welcome," Charlie said automatically. "You're sure you don't have anything else we can do to help?"

"Charles," Larry said, "we are needed at the Code and Cipher School."

"I know. But this is the first time I've ever gotten to see the fruits of all our code breaking work. I mean, we usually sit in one of Turing's huts for hours on end, cracking codes. It's satisfying when we finally come up with a solution, but it's nothing like this. When we finish there, we send our solutions off to someone a million miles away. This time, we're actually in the middle of the action. Don't tell me you don't find that exciting?"

"It's exciting, all right," Larry said. "All that excitement landed you in the hospital."

"Mr. Foyle," Hilda said, "don't you think we might still have need of the professors' help? There is, after all, another message coming."

"But you already have the keyword for that. A five year old could decipher that message," Charlie muttered.

"You're also trained in logic, aren't you? Not that I doubt Mr. Foyle's competency to handle this investigation, but this is a matter of international importance. Time is of the essence and I believe having you here will expedite things."

Foyle nodded, "I agree, Miss Pierce. It would be foolish to turn away any help at a time like this." To Charlie, he said, "Would you mind staying around until this is resolved?"

"Come on, Professor," Colby said. "Maybe when this is done we can get you into the OSS or maybe even the SOE."

Charlie turned to Larry. "What do you think?"

"I think I'd better say yes, or you'll never let me hear the end of it." Turning to Foyle, he said, "We'd be happy to stay and offer whatever help we can."

Charlie grinned. "We'll stay. I don't know about the OSS or SOE. By the time this is over, I'll probably regret not going back to my safe little hut far away from the action." He grimaced as he massaged his bruised ribs.

"All right, then." Foyle stood. "Why don't you gentlemen go back and get some rest? I think we've got some questioning and investigating to do."

* * *

As Colby, Charlie, Larry and Anna walked back to Colby's jeep, Colby turned to Charlie. "You know, Professor, I was only half kidding about the OSS. We're not all field agents. We have analysts too. When you finish your assignment in the Code and Cipher School, you might want to have your brother look into it for you."

"With any luck, this war will be over soon," Charlie said wistfully. "As stimulating as all of this is, it would be nice to get back to normal. To get home with our families and back to teaching."

"Are you a career soldier, Lieutenant?" Anna asked.

"Please, call me Colby, Ma'am. I come from three generations of men who've served their country. I think my Grandpa would give me a whupping if I quit the army."

Anna glanced at Colby's muscular arms. "Your grandpa must be really something if he could give you a whupping."

"Oh, he is, Ma'am. He's gotta be near eighty now, and he still gets up at the crack of dawn to milk the cows and plow the fields. He's really something else."

"Listen, if I'm going to call you Colby, you've got to call me Anna, okay?"

"Okay, Ma'am, I mean Anna." They reached the jeep. "Where to, folks?"

"How about we go back to the White Feather?" Charlie suggested. "I could use some rest, and, Larry, I imagine you have some work to do."

"I do," Larry said, "though I must say I agree with what you said in Mr. Foyle's office. It is stimulating to actually see where our work is leading. Speaking of which, we should ask Mrs. Weeks if she's had any foreign guests."

"Other than us," Anna said as she let Charlie help her into the back of the jeep and slipped in beside her. "Say, Charlie, suggesting Don go along with Milner and Sam was very clever."

Charlie shrugged. "I thought he'd want to spend more time with Sam. Their date got interrupted last night and I figured he'd want to make up for lost time."

"With stone faced Milner as a chaperone," Anna said, giggling.

* * *

Bessie Weeks looked up from her desk as the front door opened. "Good morning!"

"Good morning, Mrs. Weeks," Charlie said. "This is Lieutenant Granger. He'll be staying with us for a few days. Would you have a room available for him?"

Bessie chuckled. "Look around you, Dr. Eppes. We're not exactly overrun with tourists. Lieutenant Granger, welcome to the White Feather." She had him show his identification, sign the register, and then handed him his key. "I've put you next to Captain Eppes. Is that all right?"

"That's fine, ma'am. Thank you."

"Speaking of tourists, Mrs. Weeks," Charlie said, "I have a rather odd question for you."

"I've been in this business long enough that I think I've heard every odd question there is. What is it, Dr. Eppes?"

"Present company excepted, have you had any foreign guests here in the past few weeks?"

"There have been a few. We've had a Canadian, and a Spaniard. Oh, and Monsieur Dupras from Switzerland checked in this morning." She held out her hand, displaying a beautiful wristwatch. "He brought me this. He works for Rolex. He always visits here when he has business in London."

"That's a beautiful watch," Anna said. "Isn't Hastings a little out of the way for him, though?"

"I asked him that once. He said that since Switzerland is landlocked, he loves coming to the coast. But I think he has other motives for coming to Hastings."

"What motives?" Anna asked.

"I think he has a lady friend here. I've seen him around town with a very pretty young woman."

"Really? Any idea who she is?" Anna asked.

"I'm afraid I don't know. I don't think she's local, though. Why?"

Anna shrugged. "Sorry. Just a reporter's curiosity."

"Do you know if Mr. Dupras is in?" Charlie asked.

"I'm afraid not. I saw him leaving about half an hour ago." Bessie looked worried. "What is going on? Is Monsieur Dupras in trouble? I checked his papers myself."

"Please, don't worry," Larry said, "I'm sure everything is in order. We were just discussing how few foreigners we've seen here on the south coast. The war must be wreaking havoc with the tourism business."

"Right," Anna said. "I'd like to include that in the article I'm writing about how the war has affected England"

"Oh, you don't know the half of it," Bessie said. "Of course, with everything else that's gone on, the bombing, our poor boys coming home wounded, or not coming home at all, the lack of business is a minor inconvenience." She smiled at Colby, "We all appreciate your service, Lieutenant. We can just hope and pray that this awful war is over quickly"

Colby grinned, "We're doing our best, Ma'am."

"Would you like me to give Monsieur Dupras a message?"

"Oh, no need," Charlie said quickly, "it was just idle curiosity on our parts." He turned to the others. "I don't know about you, but I'm ready to hit the hay."

"Sounds good to me," Anna said. At Bessie's startled glance, she blushed and hastily added, "I mean you really must be tired and sore after all you've been through. Besides, I need to work on my article anyway. Even with all this going on, I still need to make a living."

"Speaking of which," Larry said, "Charles, before you take your nap, could you have a look at my calculations for Dr. Turing? My math is acceptable, but I'm always a little unsure of myself when presenting information to a genius of his level."

Charlie grinned. "And yet you have no such reservations when presenting information to me. Does that mean you don't think I'm at the same level as Turing?"

Larry hesitated, then returned Charlie's smile. "Not at all, Charles. It's just that I know you better and you're not my boss."

"Good point," Charlie chuckled. "All right, I'll take a look, but after that, I'm going to study the inside of my eyelids."

----------

When Sam, Milner and Don reached the Wolseley, Don waited beside the rear door. Milner opened the front passenger's side door and said, "Why don't you sit up front with Sam?"

"That's all right," Don said. "You go ahead."

Milner chuckled. "I'm accustomed to sitting in the back, and I imagine you and Sam would like to spend some time together. We'll be driving along the coast to Eastbourne, and she can point out the sights to you as we go."

"You sure?" Don asked. "You'd have more leg room up front."

"I'll be fine. It's only about fifteen miles. I insist."

Don shrugged and climbed into the passenger's seat. "Thanks. Say, I forgot to tell you, I met your wife at the hospital this morning. She stopped by to say hello. She's a very nice lady."

Milner smiled wistfully. "She is wonderful. I'm a lucky man."

Don glanced at Sam. "Maybe I'll get lucky too some day."

Sam reddened slightly. "Stranger things have happened," she said as she pulled away from the curb. "Now, Captain Eppes, have you been to the south coast before?"

"No, I haven't. I would like to come back some time when the beaches aren't fenced off with barbed wire."

"It certainly looks a lot nicer that way."

"You know," Milner said from the back seat, "A couple of weeks ago, we were called out because a stretch of wire was cut."

"Spies?" Don asked.

"No," Milner said, laughing, "a man who wanted to let his dog have a romp on the beach. He claimed the poor dog loved the beach and had been pining away since the wire went up."

"Oh, man. Did you arrest him?"

"No. I told him if he did it again, I would have to arrest him and he'd have to find someone to take care of his dog."

"What did he say to that?"

"He said the war had bloody well be over soon or he was going to have to move to the north so he could let Shep have his swim."

Sam giggled, "And then he asked me if I'd watch his dog if Milner arrested him. I told him my landlady wouldn't let me have pets."

As they drove along the beach, Don noticed once again how few cars there were on the road. "I'll bet you normally have a lot more traffic this time of year."

"It is a bit early in the season, but by mid-June, the traffic would normally be bumper to bumper along this road," Sam said. "When the war is over, things will be back to normal."

"One can only hope," Milner said. "Though I must say I don't miss all the London folks coming here on holiday. We'd never make it to Eastbourne this quickly."

When they rounded the bend approaching Eastbourne, Don noticed a white cliff in the distance. "I've heard of the white cliffs of Dover. Is that the white cliff of Eastbourne?"

"That's Beachy Head," Sam said with a chuckle.

"That's an odd name," Don said. "I know you call coastal cliffs 'headlands.' Is that where the head in Beachy Head comes from?"

"I don't know," Sam said as she turned the car away from the beach into the town center of Eastbourne. "That's its name. You'll have to look it up in an encyclopedia if you want any more than that."

"Too bad Larry isn't with us," Don said. "He seems to know something about everything."


End file.
